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FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNB 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



iV 




'^Ou>Uif& 




FOUR PLAYS 
FOR DANCERS 



Wr^BrYEATS 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

1921 

A II rights reserved. 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 






V 



Copyright, 1921, 
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1921. 



OCT 29 1921 



FERRIS PRINTING COMPANY 
NEW YORK 



0)C!.A627495 



^ PREFACE 



Two of these plays must be opened by the unfolding 
and folding of the cloth, a substitute for the rising of 
the curtain, and all must be closed by it. The others, 
*'The Dreaming of the Bones" and "Calvary," should 
have the same opening, unless played after plays of the 
same kind, when it may seem a needless repetition. All 
must be played to the accompaniment of drum and 
zither and flute, but on no account must the words be 
spoken "through music" in the fashionable way; and 
the players must move a little stiffly and gravely like 
marionettes and, I think, to the accompaniment of drum 
taps. I felt, however, during the performance of "The 
Hawk's Well," the only one played up to this, that 
there was much to discover. Should I make a serious 
attempt, which I may not, being rather tired of the 
theatre, to arrange and supervise performances, the 
dancing will give me most trouble, for I know but 
vaguely what I want. I do not want any existing form 
of stage dancing, but something with a smaller gamut 
of expression, something more reserved, more self- 
controlled, as befits performers within arm's reach of 
their audience. 

The designs by Mr. Dulac represent the masks and 
costumes used in the first performance of "The Hawk's 

V 



vi FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Well" The beautiful mask of Cuchulain may, I think, 
serve for DervorglUa, and if I write plays and organ- 
ize performances on any scale and with any system, 
I shall hope for a small number of typical masks, each 
capable of use in several plays. The face of the speaker 
should be as much a work of art as the lines that he 
speaks or the costume that he wears, that all may be 
as artificial as possible. Perhaps in the end one would 
write plays for certain masks. If some fine sculptor 
should create for my "Calvary," for instance, the masks 
of Judas, of Lazarus, and of Christ, would not this 
suggest other plays now, or many generations from 
now, and possess one cannot tell what philosophical 
virility? The mask, apart from its beauty, may sug- 
gest new situations at a moment when the old ones 
seem exhausted; "The Only Jealousy of Emer" was 
written to find what dramatic effect one could get out 
of a mask, changed while the player remains upon the 
stage to suggest a change of personality. At the end 
of this book there is some music by Mr. Rummel, 
which my friends tell me is both difficult and beautiful 
for "The Dreaming of the Bones." It will require, 
I am told, either a number of flutes of which the flute- 
player will pick now one, now another, or an elaborate 
modern flute which would not look in keeping. I pre- 
fer the first suggestion. I notice that Mr. Rummel 
has writte:n no music for the dance, and I have some 
vague memory that when we talked it over in Paris he 
felt that he could not without the dancer's help. There 
Is also music for "The Hawk's Well" by Mr. Dulac, 



PREFACE vii 

which IS Itself an exposition of method, for it was writ- 
ten after a number of rehearsals and for instruments 
that have great pictorial effect. 

"The Dreaming of the Bones" and "The Only Jeal- 
ousy of Emer," bound together as Two Plays for Danc- 
ers, were printed on my sister's hand-press at Dundrum, 
County Dublin, and published in a limited edition in the 
spring of 19 19, while "At the Hawk's Well" makes 
a part of the edition of The Wild Swans at Coole, 
printed at the same press in 19 17, though not of the 
later edition of that book published by Macmillan. "At 
the Hawk's Well" and "The Only Jealousy of Emer" 
are the first and last plays of a series of four dealing 
with Cuchulain's life. The others are my "Green 
Helmet" and "Baile's Strand." "Calvary" has not 
hitherto been published. 

That I might write "The Dreaming of the Bones" 
Mr. W. A. Henderson with great kindness wrote out 
for me all historical allusions to "Dervorgilla"; but 
neither that nor any of these plays could have existed 
If Mr. Edmond Dulac had not taught me the value and 
beauty of the mask and rediscovered how to design and 
make it. 

W. B. YEATS. 

July 1920. 



CONTENTS 



At the Hawk's Well 

The Only Jealousy of Emer . 

The Dreaming of the Bones . 

Calvary 

Note on the First Performance of 

Hawk's Well" 

Music for "At the Hawk's Well" . 
Note on ''The Only Jealousy of Emer" 
Music for "The Dreaming of the Bones" 
Note on "The Dreaming of the Bones" . 
Note on "Calvary" 



At 



the 



PAGE 
1 

25 
51 
69 

83 
89 
103 
107 
127 
133 



IX 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



PAGE 



The Guardian of the Well in "At the Hawk's 

Well" Frontispiece 

Design for Black Cloth used in "At the Hawk's Well 
Musician in "At the Hawk's Well" 
Old Man in "At the Hawk's Well" . 
Mask for Old Man in "At the Hawk's Well" . 
Mask for Young Man in "At the Hawk's Well" 
Young Man in "At the Hawk's Well" . 



4 

7 

9 

10 

12 

15 



21 



AT THE HAWK'S WELL 



PERSONS OF THE PLAY 

Three Musicians {their faces made up to resemble 

masks) . 
The Guardian of the Well {with face made up to 

resemble a mask) . 
An Old Man {wearing a mask). 
A Young Man {wearing a mask). 

The Time — the Irish Heroic Age. 

The stage is any bare space before a wall against 
which stands a patterned screen. A drum and a gong 
and a zither have been laid close to the screen before 
the play begins. If necessary, they can be carried in, 
after the audience is seated, by the First Musician, who 
also can attend to the lights if there is any special light- 
ing. We had two lanterns upon posts — designed by 
Air. Dulac — at the outer corners of the stage, but they 
did not give enough light, and we found it better to 
play by the light of a large chandelier. Indeed I think, 
so far as my present experience goes, that the most 
effective lighting is the lighting we are most accustomed 
to in our rooms. These masked players seem stranger 
when there is no 7nechanical means of separating them 
from us. The First Musician carries with him a folded 
black cloth and goes to the centre of the stage towards 
the front and stands motionless, the folded cloth 
hanging from between his hands. The two musicians 
enter and, after standing a moment at either side of the 

3 



4 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

stage, go towards him and slowly unfold the cloth, 
singing as they do so.- 

I call to the eye of the mind 
A well long choked up and dry 
And boughs long stripped by the wind, 
And I call to the mind's eye 
Pallor of an Ivory face, 
Its lofty dissolute air, 
A man climbing up to a place 
The salt sea wind has swept bare. 
As they unfold the cloth, they go backward a little 
so that the stretched cloth and the wall make a triangle 



Design for Black Cloth used in "At the Hawk's Well." 

with the First Musician at the apex supporting the 
centre of the cloth. On the black cloth is a gold pattern 
suggesting a hawk. The Second and Third Musicians 
now slowly fold up the cloth again, pacing with a 
rhythmic movement of the arms towards the First 
Musician and singing : 



AT THE HAWK'S WELL 5 

What were his life soon done! 
Would he lose by that or win? 
A mother that saw her son 
Doubled over a speckled shin, 
Cross-grained with ninety years, 
Would cry, "How little worth 
Were all my hopes and fears 
And the hard pain of his birth!" 

The words ^^a speckled shin'^ are familiar to readers 
of Irish legendary stories in descriptions of old men bent 
double over the fire. While the cloth has been spread 
out, the Guardian of the Well has entered and is now 
crouching upon the ground. She is entirely covered by 
a black cloak. The three musicians have taken their 
places against the wall beside their instruments of 
music; they will accompany the movements of the 
players with gong or drum or zither. 

First Musician (singing) 

The boughs of the hazel shake, 
The sun goes down in the west. 

Second Musician (singing) 

The heart would be always awake, 
The heart would turn to its rest. 

(They now go to one side of the stage rolling up 
the cloth. A Girl has taken her place by a square blue 
cloth representing a well. She is motionless.) 



FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

First Musician (speaking) 

Night falls; 

The mountain-side grows dark; 

The withered leaves of the hazel 

Half-choke the dry bed of the well; 

The guardian of the well Is sitting 

Upon the old grey stone at its side, 

iWorn out from raking Its dry bed, 

Worn out from gathering up the leaves. 

Her heavy eyes 

Know nothing, or but look upon stone. 

The wind that blows out of the sea 

Turns over the heaped-up leaves at her side; 

They rustle and diminish. 

Second Musician 
I am afraid of this place. 

Both Musicians \singing) 

"Why should I sleep," the heart cries, 
"For the wind, the salt wind, the sea wind 
Is beating a cloud through the skies; 
I would wander always like the wind." 
{An Old Man enters through the audience.) 

First Musician {speaking) 

That old man climbs up hither, 
Who has been watching by his well 
These fifty years. 



AT THE HAWK'S WELL 



Musician in "At the Hawk's Well.' 



8 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

He Is all doubled up with age; 
The old thorn-trees are doubled so 
Among the rocks where he Is climbing. 
{The Old Man stands for a moment motionless by 
the side of the stage with bowed head. He lifts his 
head at the sound of a drum tap. He goes towards 
the front of the stage moving to the taps of the drum. 
He crouches and moves his hands as if making a fire. 
His inovements, like those of the other persons of the 
play, suggest a marionette.) 

First Musician {speaking) 
He has made a little heap of leaves; 
He lays the dry sticks on the leaves 
And, shivering with cold, he has taken up 
The flre-stlck and socket from Its hole. 
He whirls It round to get a flame; 
And now the dry sticks take the fire 
And now the fire leaps up and shines 
Upon the hazels and the empty well. 

Musicians {singing) 
"O wind, O salt wind, O sea wind!" 
Cries the heart, "It Is time to sleep; 
Why wander and nothing to find? 
Better grow old and sleep." 

Old Man {speaking) 
Why don't you speak to me? Why don't you say 
"Are you not weary gathering those sticks? 
Are not your fingers cold?" You have not one word, 
While yesterday you spoke three times. You said: 



AT THE HAWK'S WELL 




Old Man in "At the Hawk's Well." 



lO 



FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 



"The well Is full of hazel leaves." You said: 
"The wind Is from the west." And after that: 
"If there Is rain It's likely there'll be mud." 
To-day you are as stupid as a fish, 
No, worse, worse, being less lively and as dumb. 
{He goes nearer.) 




Mask for Old Man in "At the Hawk's Well 



Your eyes are dazed and heavy. If the SIdhe 

Must have a guardian to clean out the well 

And drive the cattle off, they might choose somebod)^ 

That can be pleasant and companionable 

Once In the day. Why do you stare like that? 

You had that glassy look about the eyes 

Last time It happened. Do you know anything? 



AT THE HAWK'S WELL ii 

It IS enough to drive an old man crazy 
To look all day upon these broken rocks, 
And ragged thorns, and that one stupid face, 
And speak and get no answer. 

Young Man 

{who has entered through the audience during the last 
speech) 

Then speak to me, 
For youth is not more patient than old age; 
And though I have trod the rocks for half a day 
I cannot find what I am looking for. 

Old Man 

Who speaks? 
Who comes so suddenly Into this place 
Where nothing thrives? If I may judge by the gold 
On head and feet and glittering In your coat. 
You are not of those who hate the living world. 

Young Man 

[ am named Cuchulain, I am Sualtam's son. 

Old Man 
I have never heard that name. 

Cuchulain 

It is not unknown. 
I have an ancient house beyond the sea. 



12 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Old Man 
What mischief brings you hither, you are like those 
Who are crazy for the shedding of men's blood, 
And for the love of women? 

Young Man 

A rumour has led me, 
A story told over the wine towards dawn. 




Mask for Young Man in "At the Hawk's Well." 

I rose from table, found a boat, spread sail 
And with a lucky wind under the sail 
Crossed waves that have seemed charmed, and found 
this shore. 

Old Man 
There is no house to sack among these hills 
Nor beautiful woman to be carried off. 



AT THE HAWK'S WELL 13 

Young Man 

You should be native here, for that rough tongue 

Matches the barbarous spot. You can, it may be , 

Lead me to what I seek, a well wherein 

Three hazels drop their nuts and withered leaves, 

And where a solitary girl keeps watch 

Among grey boulders. He who drinks, they say. 

Of that miraculous water lives for ever. 

Old Man 

And are there not before your eyes at the Instant 
Grey boulders and a solitary girl 
And three stripped hazels? 

Young Man 

But there Is no well. 

Old Man 
Can you see nothing yonder? 

Young Man 

I but see 
A hollow among stones half-full of leaves. 

Old Man 

And do you think so great a gift Is found 
By no more toll than spreading out a sail. 
And climbing a steep hill? Oh, folly of youth, 
Why should that hollow place fill up for you, 



14 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

That will not fill for me? I have lain in wait 
For more than fifty years to find it empty, 
Or but to find the stupid wind of the sea 
Drive round the perishable leaves. 

Young Man 

So it seems 
There is some moment when the water fills it. 

Old Man 

A secret moment that the holy shades 

That dance upon the desolate mountain know, 

And not a living man, and when it comes 

The water has scarce plashed before it is gone. 

Young Man 

I will stand here and wait. Why should the luck 
Of Sualtam's son desert him now? For never 
Have I had long to wait for anything. 

Old Man 

No ! Go from this accursed place, this place 
Belongs to me, that girl there and those others, 
Deceivers of men. 

Young Man 

And who are you who rail 
Upon those dancers that all others bless? 



AT THE HAWK'S WELL 



15 




Young Man in "At the Hawk's Well." 



i6 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Old Man 

One whom the dancers cheat. I came like you 
When young In body and in mind, and blown 
By what had seemed to me a lucky sail. 
The well was dry, I sat upon- its edge, 
I waited the miraculous flood, I waited 
While the years passed and withered me away. 
I have snared the birds for food and eaten grass 
And drunk the rain, and neither in dark nor shine 
Wandered too far away to have heard the plash, 
And yet the dancers have deceived me. Thrice 
I have awakened from a sudden sleep 
To find the stones were wet. 

Young Man 

My luck is strong, 
It will not leave me waiting, nor will they 
That dance among the stones put me asleep; 
If I grow drowsy I can pierce my foot. 

Old Man 

No, do not pierce it, for the foot Is tender. 
It feels pain much. But find your sail again 
And leave the well to me, for It belongs 
To all that's old and withered. 

Young Man 

No, I stay. 
{The Girl gives the cry of the hawk.) 
There is that bird again. 



AT THE HAWK'S WELL 17 

Old Man 

There Is no bird. 

Young Man 

It sounded like the sudden cry of a hawk, 

But there's no wing In sight. As I came hither 

A great grey hawk swept down out of the sky, 

And though I have good hawks, the best In the world 

I had fancied, I have not seen Its like. It flew 

As though It would have torn me with Its beak, 

Or blinded me, smiting with that great wing. 

1 had to draw my sword to drive It off, 

And after that It flew from rock to rock. 

I pelted It with stones, a good half-hour. 

And just before I had turned the big rock there 

And seen this place, It seemed to vanish away. 

Could I but find a means to bring It down 

I'd hood it. 

Old Man 

The woman of the Sidhe herself, 
The mountain witch, the unappeasable shadow, 
She Is always flitting upon this mountain-side, 
To allure or to destroy. When she has shown 
Herself to the fierce women of the hills 
Under that shape they offer sacrifice 
And arm for battle. There falls a curse 
On all who have gazed in her unmolstened eyes; 
So get you gone while you have that proud step 
And confident voice, for not a man alive 
Has so much luck that he can play with it. 

C 



1 8 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Those that have long to. live should fear her most, 

The old are cursed already. That curse may be 

Never to win a woman's love and keep It; 

Or always to mix hatred in the love; 

Or It may be that she will kill your children, 

That you will find them, their throats torn and bloody. 

Or you win be so- maddened that you kill them 

With your own hand. 

Young Man 

Have you been set down there 
To threaten all who come, and scare them off? 
You seem as dried up as the leaves and sticks, 
As though you had no part In life. 

( Girl gives hawk cry again. ) 

That cry I 
There Is that cry again. That woman made it. 
But why does she cry out as the hawk cries? 

Old Man 

It was her mouth, and yet not she, that cried. 
It was that shadow cried behind her mouth; 
And now I know why she has been so stupid 
All the day through, and had such heavy eyes. 
Look at her shivering now, the terrible life 
Is slipping through her veins. She is possessed. 
Who knows whom she will murder or betray 
Before she awakes In Ignorance of It all. 
And gathers up the leaves! But they'll be wet; 



AT THE HAWK'S WELL 19 

The water will have come and gone again; 
That shivering Is the sign. Oh, get you gone, 
At any moment now I shall hear It bubble. 
If you are good you will leave It. I am old, 
And If I do not drink It now, will never; 
I have been watching all my life and maybe 
Only a little cupful will bubble up. 

Young Man 

ril take It In my hands. We shall both drink. 
And even If there are but a few drops, 
Share them. 

Old Man 

But swear that I may drink the first; 
The young are greedy, and If you drink the first 
You'll drink It all. Ah, you have looked at her; 
She has felt your gaze and turned her eyes on us; 
1 cannot bear her eyes, they are not of this world, 
Nor moist, nor faltering; they are no girl's eyes. 

{He covers his head. The Guardian of the Well 
throws of her cloak and rises. Her dress under the 
cloak suggests a hawk.) 

Young Man 

Why do you gaze upon me with the eyes of a hawk? 
I am not afraid of you, bird, woman, or witch. 

\He goes to the side of the well, which the Guardian 
of the Well has left.) 



20 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Do what you will, I shall not leave this place 
Till I have grown Immortal like yourself. 

{He has sat down, the Girl has begun to dance, 
moving like a hawk. The Old Man sleeps. The dance 
goes on for some time.) 

First Musician {singing or half -singing) 
O God protect me 
From a horrible deathless body 
Sliding through the veins of a sudden. 
{The dance goes on for some time. The Young 
Man rises slowly.) 

First Musician {speaking) 

The madness has laid hold upon him now, 
For he grows pale and staggers to his feet. 
{The dance goes on.) 

Young Man 
Run where you will, 

Grey bird, you shall be perched upon my wrist, 
Some were called queens and yet have been perched 
there. 
{The dance goes on,) 

First Musician {speaking) 
I have heard water plash; it comes, it comes; 
It glitters among the stones and he has heard the plash; 
Look, he has turned his head. 

( The Hawk has gone out. The Young Man drops 
his spear as if in a dream and goes out.) 



AT THE HAWK'S WELL 21 

Musicians {singing) 
He has lost what may not be found 
Till men heap his burial mound 
And all the history ends. 
He might have lived at his ease, 
An old dog's head on his knees, 
Among his children and friends. 
{The Old Man creeps up to the well.) 

Old Man 
The accursed shadows have deluded me, 
The stones are dark and yet the well Is empty; 
The water flowed and emptied while I slept; 
You have deluded me my whole life through. 
Accursed dancers, you have stolen my life. 
That there should be such evil In a shadow. 

Young Man {entering) 
She has fled from me and hidden In the rocks. 

Old Man 
She has but led you from the fountain. Look! 
The stones and leaves are dark where It has flowed, 
Yet there Is not a drop to drink. 

{The Musicians cry ^^EofeT' ^'EofeF' and strike 
gong.) 

Young Man 

What are those cries? 
What Is that sound that runs along the hill? 
Who are they that beat a sword upon a shield? 



22 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Old Man 

She has roused up the fierce women of the hills, 
Eofe, and all her troop, to take your life, 
And never till you are lying In the earth, 
Can you know rest. 

Young Man 

The clash of arms again ! 

Old Man 

Oh, do not go! The mountain Is accursed; 
Stay with me, I have nothing more to lose, 
I do not now deceive you. 

Young Man 

I will face them. 

{He goes out no longer as if in a dream, hut 
shouldering his spear and calling) 

He comes! Cuchulain, son of Sualtam, comes! 

{The Musicians stand up, one goes to centre with 
folded cloth. The others unfold it. While they do 
so they sing. During the singing, and while hidden hy 
the cloth, the Old Man goes out. When the play is 
performed with Mr. Dulac's music, the Musicians do 
not rise or unfold the cloth till after they have sung 
the words *'a bitter life.") 



AT THE HAWK'S WELL 23 

{Songs for the unfolding and folding of the cloth,) 

Come to me, human faces, 
Familiar memories; 
I have found hateful eyes 
Among the desolate places, 
Unfaltering, unmoistened eyes. 

Folly alone I cherish, 

I choose it for my share, 

Being but a mouthful of air, 

I am content to perish, 

I am but a mouthful of sweet air. 

lamentable shadows. 
Obscurity of strife, 

1 choose a pleasant life, 
Among Indolent meadows; 
Wisdom must live a bitter life. 

{They then fold up the cloth, again singing.) 

"The man that I praise," 

•Cries out the empty well, 

*'Lives all his days 

Where a hand on the bell 

Can call the milch cows 

To the comfortable door of his house. 

Who but an Idiot would praise 

Dry stones in a well?" 

"The man that I praise," 
Cries out the leafless tree, 



24 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

*'Has married and stays 

By an old hearth, and he 

On naught has set store 

But children and dogs on the floor. 

Who but an Idiot would praise 

A withered tree?'* 

{They go out.) 



THE ONLY JEALOUSY OF EMER 



25 



PERSONS OF THE PLAY 

Three Musicians {their faces made tip to resemble 

masks) . 
The Ghost of Cuchulain {wearing a mask). 
The Figure of Cuchulain {wearing a mask), 
Emer {masked, or their faces made up to 

EiTHNE Inguba resemble masks). 
Woman of the Sidhe {wearing a mask). 

Enter Musicians, who are dressed and made up as 
in '^At the Hawk's Well." They have the same 
musical instruments, which can either be already upon 
the stage or be brought in by the First Musician before 
he stands in the centre with the cloth between his hands, 
or by a player when the cloth is unfolded. The stage 
as before can be against the wall of any room, and the 
black cloth is used as in '^At the Hawk's JVellJ' 

{Song for the folding and unfolding of the cloth.) 

First Musician 

A woman's beauty Is like a white 
Frail bird, like a white sea-bird alone 
At daybreak after stormy night 
Between two furrows upon the ploughed land: 
A sudden storm and it was thrown 
Between dark furrows upon the ploughed land. 

27 



28 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

How many centuries spent 
The sedentary soul 
In toils of measurement 
Beyond eagle or mole, 
Beyond hearing or seeing, 
Or Archimedes guess, 
To raise into being 
That loveliness? 

A strange unserviceable thing, 

A fragile, exquisite, pale shell. 

That the vast troubled waters bring 

To the loud sands before day has broken. 

The storm arose and suddenly fell 

Amid the dark before day had broken. 

What death? what discipline? 

What bonds no man could unbind 

Being imagined within 

The labyrinth of the mind, 

What pursuing or fleeing, 

What wounds, what bloody press 

Dragged Into being 

This loveliness? 

{When the cloth is folded again the Musicians take 
their place against the wall. The folding of the cloth 
shows on one side of the stage the curtained bed or 
litter on which lies a man in his grave-clothes. He 
wears an heroic mask. Another man with exactly 
similar clothes and mask crouches near the front, 
Emer is sitting beside the bed.) 



THE ONLY JEALOUSY OF EMER 29 

First Musician {speaking) 

I call before the eyes a roof 

With cross-beams darkened by smoke; 

A fisher's net hangs from a beam, 

A long oar lies against the wall. 

I call up a poor fisher's house; 

A man lies dead or swooning, 

That amorous man. 

That amorous, violent man, renowned Cuchulain, 

Queen Emer at his side. 

At her own bidding all the rest have gone; 

But now one comes on hesitating feet, 

Young Eithne Inguba, Cuchulain's mistress. 

She stands a. moment in the open, door, 

Beyond the open door the bitter sea, 

The shining, bitter sea, is crying out, 

{singing) White shell, white wing! 

I will not choose for my friend 

A frail unserviceable thing 

That drifts and dreams, and but knows 

That waters are without end 

And that wind blows. 

Emer {speaking) 

Come hither, come sit down beside the bed; 
You need not be afraid, for I myself 
Sent for you, Eithne Inguba. 

Eithne Inguba 

No, Madam, 
I have too deeply wronged you to sit there. 



30 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Emer 

Of all the people in the world we two, 
And we alone, may watch together here, 
Because we have loved him best. 

EiTHNE Inguba 

And is he dead? 

Emer 

Although they have dressed him out in his grave-clothes 

And stretched his limbs, Cuchulain is not dead; 

The very heavens when that day's at hand, 

So that his death may not lack ceremony. 

Will throw out fires, and the earth grow red with blood. 

There shall not be a scullion but foreknows it 

Like the world's end. 

EiTHNE Inguba 

How did he come to this? 

Emer 

Towards noon in the assembly of the kings 
He met with one who seemed a while most dear. 
The kings stood round; some quarrel was blown up; 
He drove him out and killed him on the shore 
At Baile's tree, and he who was so killed 
Was his own son begot on some wild woman 
When he was young, or so I have heard it said; 
And thereupon, knowing what man he had killed, 



THE ONLY JEALOUSY OF EMER 31 

And being mad with sorrow, he ran out; 

And after, to his middle in the foam 

With shield before him and with sword in hand. 

He fought the deathless sea. The kings looked on 

And not a king dared stretch an arm, or even 

Dared call his name, but all stood wondering 

In that dumb stupor like cattle In a gale. 

Until at last, as though he had fixed his eyes 

On a new enemy, he waded out 

Until the water had swept over him; 

But the waves washed his senseless image up 

And laid it at this door. 

ElTHNE InGUBA 

How pale he looks ! 



Emer 



He is not dead. 



ElTHNE InGUBA 

You have not kissed his lips 
Nor laid his head upon your breast. 

Emer 

It may be 
An image has been put Into his place, 
A sea-borne log bewitched Into his likeness. 
Or some stark horseman grown too old to ride 
Among the troops of Mananan, Son of the Sea, 
Now that his joints are stiff. 



32 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

ElTHNE InGUBA 

Cry out his name. 
All that are taken from our sight, they say, 
Loiter amid the scenery of their lives 
For certain hours or days, and should he hear 
He might, being angry, drive the changeling out. 

Emer 

It IS hard to make them hear amid their darkness, 
And it is long since I could call him home; 
I am but his wife, but if you cry aloud 
With that sweet voice that is so dear to him 
He cannot help but listen. 

ElTHNE InGUBA 

He loves me best, 
Being his newest love, but in the end 
Will love the woman best who loved him first 
And loved him through the years when love seemed 
lost. 

Emer 

I have that hope, the hope that some day somewhere 
We'll sit together at the hearth again. 

Eithne Inguba 

Women like me, the violent hour passed over, 
Are flung into some corner like old nut-shells. 
Cuchulain, listen. 



THE ONLY JEALOUSY OF EMER 33 

Emer 
No, not yet, for first 
I'll cover up his face to hide the sea ; 
And throw new logs upon the hearth and stir 
The half-burnt logs until they break In flame. 
Old Mananan's unbridled horses come 
Out of the sea, and on their backs his horsemen; 
But all the enchantments of the dreaming foam 
Dread the hearth-fire. 

{She pulls the curtains of the bed so as to hide the 
sick man^s face, that the actor may change his mask 
unseen. She goes to one side of platform and moves 
her hand as though putting logs on a fire and stirring 
it into a blaze. While she makes these movements the 
Musicians play, marking the movements with drum 
and flute perhaps. 

Having finished she stands beside the imaginary fire 
at a distance from Cuchulain and Eithne Inguba.) 

Call on Cuchulain now. 

Eithne Inguba 
Can you not hear my voice? 

Emer 

Bend over him; 
Call out dear secrets till you have touched his heart 
If he lies there; and if he is not there 
Till you have made him jealous. 

Eithne Inguba 

Cuchulain, listen. 

D 



34 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Emer 
Those words sound timidly; to be afraid 
Because his wife is but three paces off, 
When there is so great a need, were but to prove 
The man that chose you made but a poor choice: 
We're but two women struggling with the sea. 

EiTHNE Inguba 

my beloved, pardon me, that I 

Have been ashamed and you in so great need. 

1 have never sent a message or called out. 
Scarce had a longing for your company 

But you have known and come; and if Indeed 

You are lying there, stretch out your arms and speak; 

Open your mouth and speak, for to this hour 

My company has made you talkative. 

What ails your tongue, or what has closed your ears? 

Our passion had not chilled when we were parted 

On the pale shore under the breaking dawn. 

He cannot speak: or else his ears are closed 

And no sound reaches him, 

Emer 

Then kiss that Image; 
The pressure of your mouth upon his mouth 
May reach him where he Is. 

EiTHNE Inguba {starting hack) 
It is no man. 
I felt some evil thing that dried my heart 
When my lips touched it. 



THE ONLY JEALOUSY OF EMER 35 

Emer 

No, his body stirs; 
The pressure of your mouth has called him home; 
He has thrown the changeling out. 

ElTHNE Inguba {going further of) 

Look at that arm; 
That arm is withered to the very socket. 

Emer {going up to the bed) 
What do you come for; and from where? 

Figure of Cuchulain 

I have come 
From Mananan's court upon a bridleless horse. 

Emer 

What one among the Sidhe has dared to lie 
Upon Cuchulain's bed and take his image? 

Figure of Cuchulain 

I am named Bricriu — not the man — that Bricrlu, 
Maker of discord among gods and men, 
Called Bricriu of the Sidhe. 

Emer 
Come for what purpose? 



26 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Figure of Cuchulain 

{sitting up parting curtain and showing its distorted 

face, as Eithne Inguha goes out) 
I show my face and everything he loves 
Must fly away. 

Emer 

You people of the wind 
Are full of lying speech and mockery: 
I have not fled your face. 

Figure of Cuchulain 

You are not loved. 

Emer 

And therefore have no dread to meet your eyes 
And to demand him of you. 

Figure of Cuchulain 

For that I have come. 
You have but to pay the price and he is free. 

Emer 
Do the Sidhe bargain? 

Figure of Cuchulain 

When they would free a captive 
They take in ransom a less valued thing. 
The fisher when some knowledgeable man 
Restores to him his wife, or son, or daughter, 



THE ONLY JEALOUSY OF EMER 37 

Knows he must lose a boat or net, or It may be 

The cow that gives his children milk; and some 

Have offered their own lives. I do not ask 

Your life, or any valuable thing; 

You spoke but now of the mere chance that some day 

You'd be the apple of his eye again 

When old and ailing, but renounce that chance 

And he shall live again. 

Emer 

I do not question 
But you have brought 111 luck on all he loves ; 
And now, because I am thrown beyond your power 
Unless your words are lies, you come to bargain. 

Figure of Cuchulain 

You loved your mastery, when but newly married, 
And I love mine for all my withered arm; 
You have but to put yourself into that power 
And he shall live again. 

Emer 

No, never, never. 

Figure of Cuchulain 
You dare not be accursed, yet he has dared. 

Emer 

I have but two joyous thoughts, two things I prize, 
A hope, a memory, and now you claim that hope. 



38 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Figure of Cuchulain 

He'll never sit beside you at the hearth 
Or make old bones, but die of wounds and toll 
On some far shore or mountain, a strange woman 
Beside his mattress. 

Emer 

You ask for my one hope 
That you may bring your curse on all about him. 

Figure of Cuchulain 

You've watched his loves and you have not been jealous 
Knowing that he would tire, but do those tire 
That love the SIdhe? 

Emer 

Wliat dancer of the SIdhe, 
What creature of the reeling moon has pursued him? 

Figure of Cuchulain 

I have but to touch your eyes and give them sight; 
But stand at my left side. 

{He touches her eyes with his left hand, the right 
being withered.) 

Emer 

My husband there. 



THE ONLY JEALOUSY OF EMER 39 

Figure of Cuchulain 
But out of reach — I have dissolved the dark 
That hid him from your eyes, but not that other 
That's hidden you from his. 

Emer 

Husband, husband! 

Figure of Cuchulain 
Be silent, he is but a phantom now 
And he can neither touch, nor hear, nor see; 
The longing and the cries have drawn him hither. 
He heard no sound, heard no articulate sound; 
They could but banish rest, and make him dream, 
And in that dream, as do all dreaming shades 
Before they are accustomed to their freedom, 
He has taken his famllar form; and yet 
He crouches there not knowing where he Is 
Or at whose side he is crouched. 

{A Woman of the Sidhe has entered and stands a 
little inside the door.) 

Emer 

Who is this woman? 

Figure of Cuchulain 
She has hurried from the Country-Under-Wave 
And dreamed herself into that shape that he 
May glitter in her basket; for the Sidhe 
Are dextrous fishers and they fish for men 
With dreams upon the hook. 



40 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Emer 

And so that woman 
Has hid herself In this disguise and made 
Herself Into a He. 

Figure of Cuchulain 

A dream Is body; 
The dead move ever towards a dreamless youth 
And when they dream no more return no more; 
And those more holy shades that never lived 
But visit you In dreams. 

Emer 

I know her sort. 
They find our men asleep, weary with war, 
Or weary with the chase, and kiss their lips 
And drop their hair upon them; from that hour 
Our men, who yet knew nothing of it all, 
Are lonely, and when at fall of night we press 
Their hearts upon our hearts their hearts are cold. 

{She draws a knife from her girdle.) 

Figure of Cuchulain 

And so you think to wound her with a knife. 

She has an airy body. Look and listen; 

I have not given you eyes and ears for nothing. 

{The Woman of the Sidhe moves round the crouch- 
ing Ghost of Cuchulain at front of stage in a dance 
that grows gradually quicker y as he slowly awakes. At 
moments she may drop her hair upon his head hut 



THE ONLY JEALOUSY OF EMER 41 

she does not kiss him. She is accompanied by string 
and flute and drum. Her mask and clothes must sug- 
gest gold or bronze or brass or silver, so that she seems 
more an idol than a human being. This suggestion 
may be repeated in her movements. Her hair, too, 
must keep the fuetallic suggestion.) 

Ghost of Cuchulain 

Who Is It stands before me there 
Shedding such light from limb and hair 
As when the moon, complete at last 
With every labouring crescent past, 
And lonely with extreme delight, 
Flings out upon the fifteenth night? 

Woman of the Sidhe 

Because I long I am not complete. 
What pulled your hands about your feet 
And your head down upon your knees. 
And hid your face ? 

Ghost of Cuchulain 

Old memories: 
A dying boy, with handsome face 
Upturned upon a beaten place; 
A sacred yew-tree on a strand; 
A woman that held In steady hand. 
In all the happiness of her youth 
Before her man had broken troth, 
A burning wisp to light the door; 
And many a round or crescent more; 



42 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Dead men and women. Memories 
Have pulled my head upon my knees. 

Woman of the Sidhe 

Could you that have loved many a woman 
That did not reach beyond the human, 
Lacking a day to be complete, 
Love one that though her heart can beat, 
Lacks it but by an hour or so? 

Ghost of Cuchulain 

I know you now, for long ago 
I met you on the mountain side, 
Beside a well that seemed long dry, 
Beside old thorns where the hawk flew. 
I held out arms and hands; but you. 
That now seem friendly, fled away 
Half woman and half bird of prey. 

Woman of the Sidhe 

Hold out your arms and hands again; 
You were not so dumbfounded when 
I was that bird of prey, and yet 
I am all woman now. 

Ghost of Cuchulain 

I am not 
The young and passionate man I was. 
And though that brilliant light surpass 
All crescent forms, my memories 
Weigh down my hands, abash my eyes. 



THE ONLY JEALOUSY OF EMER 43 

Woman of the Sidhe 

Then kiss my mouth. Though memory- 
Be beauty's bitterest enemy 
I have no dread, for at my kiss 
Memory on the moment vanishes: 
Nothing but beauty can remain. 

Ghost of Cuchulain 

And shall I never know again 
Intricacies of blind remorse? 

Woman of the Sidhe 

Time shall seem to stay his course; 

When your mouth and my mouth meet 

All my round shall be complete 

Imagining all its circles run; 

And there shall be oblivion 

Even to quench Cuchulain's drouth, 

Even to still that heart. 

Ghost of Cuchulain 

Your mouth. 

{They are about to kiss, he turns away.) 
O Emer, Emer. 

Woman of the Sidhe 

So then It is she 
Made you Impure with memory. 



44 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Ghost of Cuchulain 

Still In that dream I see you stand, 
A burning wisp In your right hand, 
To wait my coming to the house, 
As when our parents married us. 

Woman of the Sidhe 

Being among the dead you love her 
That valued every slut above her 
While you still lived. 

Ghost of Cuchulain 

O my lost Emer. 

Woman of the Sidhe 

And there Is not a loose-tongued schemer 
But could draw you, if not dead. 
From her table and her bed. 
But what could make you fit to wive 
With flesh and blood, being born to live 
Where no one speaks of broken troth, 
For all have washed out of their eyes 
Wind-blown dirt of their memories 
To improve their sight? 

Ghost of Cuchulain 

Your mouth, your mouth. 

(Their lips approach but Cuchulain turns away as 
Emer speaks.) 



THE ONLY JEALOUSY OF EMER 45 

Emer 

If but the dead will set him free 

That I may speak with him at whiles 

By the hearth-stone, I am content — . 

Content that he shall turn on me 

Eyes that the cold moon, or the vague sea, 

Or what I know not's made Indifferent. 

Ghost of Cuchulain 
What a wise silence has fallen In this dark! 
I know you now In all your Ignorance 
Of all whereby a lover's quiet Is rent. 
What dread so great as that he should forget 
The least chance sight or sound, or scratch or mark 
On an old door, or frail bird heard and seen 
In the Incredible clear light love cast 
All round about her some forlorn lost day? 
That face, though fine enough, Is a fool's face 
And there's a folly In the deathless Sidhe 
Beyond man's reach. 

WOxMAN OF THE SiDHE 

I told you to forget 
After my fashion; you would have none of It; 
So now you may forget In a man's fashion. 
There's an unbridled horse at the sea's edge; 
Mount; It will carry you In an eye's wink 
To where the King of Country-Under-Wave, 
Old Mananan, nods above the board and moves 



46 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

His chessmen In a dream. Demand your life 
And come again on the unbridled horse. 



Ghost of Cuchulain 

Forgive me those rough words. How could you knovv 
That man is held to those whom he has loved 
By pain they gave, or pain that he has given, 
Intricacies of pain. 

Woman of the Sidhe 

I am ashamed 
That being of the deathless shades I chose 
A man so knotted to impurity. 

{The Ghost of Cuchulain goes out,) 

Woman of the Sidhe 

{to Figure of Cuchulain) 

To you that have no living light, but dropped 
From a last leprous crescent of the moon, 
I owe it all. 

Figure of Cuchulain 

Because you have failed 
I must forego your thanks, I that took pity 
Upon your love and carried out your plan 
To tangle all his life and make it nothing 
That he might turn to you. 



THE ONLY JEALOUSY OF EMER 47 

Woman of the Sidhe 

Was It from pity 
You taught the woman to prevail against me? 

Figure of Cuchulain 
You know my nature — by what name I am called. 

Woman of the Sidhe 

Was it from pity that you hid the truth 

That men are bound to women by the wrongs 

They do or suffer? 

Figure of Cuchulain 

You know what being I am. 

Woman of the Sidhe 

I have been mocked and disobeyed — your power 
Was more to you than my good-will, and now 
I'll have you learn what my ill-will can do; 
I lay you under bonds upon the Instant 
To stand before your King and face the charge 
And take the punishment. 

Figure of Cuchulain 

I'll stand there first, 
And tell my story first, and Mananan 
Knows that his own harsh sea made my heart cold. 



48 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Woman of the Sidhe 

My horse is there and shall outrun your horse. 

( The Figure of Cuchulain falls hack, the Woman of 
the Sidhe goes out. Drum taps, music resembling horse 
hoofs.) 

ElTHNE Inguba {entering quickly) 

I heard the beat of hoofs, but saw no horse, 
And then came other hoofs, and after that 
I heard low angry cries and thereupon 
I ceased to be afraid. 

Emer 

Cuchulain wakes. 

( The figure turns round. It once more wears the 
heroic mask.) 

Cuchulain 

Your arms, your arms. O Eithne Inguba, 

I have been in some strange place and am afraid. 

{The First Musician comes to the front of stage, the 
others from each side and unfold the cloth singing.) 
{Song for the unfolding and folding of the cloth.) 

The Musicians 

Why does your heart beat thus? 
Plain to be understood 
I have met in a man's house 
A statue of solitude. 
Moving there and walking; 
Its strange heart beating fast 



THE ONLY JEALOUSY OF EMER 49 

For all our talking. 

O still that heart at last. 

O bitter reward 

Of many a tragic tomb ! 

And we though astonished are dumb 

And give but a sigh and a word, 

A passing word. 

Although the door be shut 
And all seem well enough, 
Although wide world hold not 
A man but will give you his love 
The moment he has looked at you, 
He that has loved the best 
May turn from a statue 
His too human breast. 

O bitter reward 

Of many a tragic tomb ! 

And we though astonished are dumb 

Or give but a sigh and a word, 

A passing word. 

What makes your heart so beat? 
Is there no man at your side? 
When beauty Is complete 
Your own thought will have died 
And danger not be diminished; 
Dimmed at three-quarter light 
When moon's round is finished 
The stars are out of sight. 

m 



f5o FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

O bitter reward 

Of many a tragic tomb! 

And we though astonished are dumb 

Or give but a sigh and a word, 

A passing word. 

{When the cloth is folded again the stage is bare,) 



THE DJREAMING OF THE BONES 



SI 



PERSONS OF THE PLAY 

Three Musicians (their faces made up to resemble 

masks). 
A Young Man. 
A Stranger (wearing a mask). 
A Young Girl (wearing a mask). 

Time — 191 6. 

The stage is any bare place in a room close to the 
wall. A screen, with a pattern of mountain and sky, 
can stand against the wall, or a curtain with a like 
pattern hang upon it, but the pattern must only 
symbolize or suggest. One musician enters and then 
two others; the first stands singing, as in preceding 
plays, while the others take their places. Then all 
three sit down against the wall by their instruments, 
which are already there — a drum, a zither, and a 
flute. Or they unfold a cloth as in ^^At the Hawk's 
JVell,'' while the instruments are carried in. 

(Song for the folding and unfolding of the cloth.) 

First Musician (or all three musicians, singing) 

Why does my heart beat so? 
Did not a shadow pass? 
It passed but a moment ago. 
Who can have trod In the grass ? 
What rogue Is nIght-wanderIng? 

53 



54 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Have not old writers said 
That dizzy dreams can spring 
From the dry bones of the dead? 
And many a night it seems 
That all the valley fills 
With those fantastic dreams. 
They overflow the hills, 
So passionate Is a shade, 
Like wine that fills to the top 
A grey-green cup of jade, 
Or maybe an agate cup. 

( The three Musicians are now seated by the drum, 
flute, and zither at the back of the stage. The First 
Musician speaks.) 

The hour before dawn and the moon covered up; 

The little village of Abbey Is covered up; 

The little narrow trodden way that runs 

From the white road to the Abbey of Corcomroe 

Is covered up ; and all about the hills 

Are like a circle of Agate or of Jade. 

Somewhere among great rocks on the scarce grass 

Birds cry, they cry their loneliness. 

Even the sunlight can be lonely here, 

Even hot noon is lonely. I hear a footfall — 

A young man with a lantern comes this way. 

He seems an Aran fisher, for he wears 

The flannel bawneen and the cow-hide shoe. 

He stumbles wearily, and stumbling prays. 

{A young man enters, praying in Irish.) 



THE DREAMING OF THE BONES SS 

Once more the birds cry In their loneliness, 

But now they wheel about our heads; and now 

They have dropped on the grey stone to the north-east. 

{A man and a girl, in the costume of a past time, 
come in. They wear heroic masks.) 

Young Man {raising his lantern) 

Who Is there? I cannot see what you are like, 
Come to the light. 

Stranger 

But what have you to fear? 

Young Man 
And why have you come creeping through the dark. 

{The Girl blows out lantern.) 
The wind has blown my lantern out. Where are you? 
I saw a pair of heads against the sky 
And lost them after; but you are In the right, 
I should not be afraid in County Clare; 
And should be, or should not be have no choice, 
I have to put myself into your hands, 
Now that my candle's out. 

Stranger 

You have fought In Dublin? 

Young Man 

I was In the Post Office, .and If taken 
I shall be put against a wall and shot. 



S6 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Stranger 

You know some place of refuge, have some plan 
Or friend who will come to meet you? 

Young Man 

I am to He 
At daybreak on the mountain and keep watch 
Until an Aran coracle puts in 
At Muckanish or at the rocky shore 
Under Finvarra, but would break my neck 
If I went stumbling there alone in the dark. 

Stranger 

We know the pathways that the sheep tread out, 

And all the hiding-places of the hills, 

And that they had better hiding-places once. 

Young Man 

You'd say they had better before English robbers 
Cut down the trees or set them upon fire 
For fear their owners might find shelter there. 
What is that sound? 

Stranger 

An old horse gone astray. 
He has been wandering on the road all night. 

Young Man 

I took him for a man and horse. Police 
Are out upon the roads. In the late Rising 
I think there was no man of us but hated 



THE DREAMING OF THE BONES 57 

To fire at soldiers who but did their duty 
And were not of our race, but when a man 
Is born in Ireland and of Irish stock, 
When he takes part against us — 

Stranger 

I will put you safe, 
No living man shall set his eyes upon you; 
I will not answer for the dead. 

Young Man 

The dead? 

Stranger 

For certain days the stones where you must lie 
Have in the hour before the break of day 
Been haunted. 

Young Man 

But I was not born at midnight. 

Stranger 

(Many a man that was born in the full daylight 
Can see them plain, will pass them on the high-road 
Or in the crowded market-place of the town, 
And never know that they have passed. 

Young Man 

My Grandam 
Would have it they did penance everywhere; 
Some lived through their old lives again. 



58 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Stranger j , 

in a dream; 

And some for an old scruple must hang spitted 

Upon the swaying tops of lofty trees; 

Some are consumed in fire, some withered up 

By hail and sleet out of the wintry North, 

And some but live through their old lives again. 

Young Man 
Well, let them dream into what shape they please 
And fill waste mountains with the invisible tumult 
Of the fantastic conscience. I have no dread; 
They cannot put me into jail or shoot me. 
And seeing that their blood has returned to fields 
That have grown red from drinking blood like mine, 
They would not if they could betray. 

Stranger rr., . . 

Ihis pathway 

Runs to the ruined Abbey of Corcomroe; 

The Abbey passed, we are soon among the stone 

And shall be at the ridge before the cocks 

Of Aughanish or Bailevelehan 

Or grey Aughtmana shake their wings and cry. 

^{They go round the stage once,) 

First Musician {speaking) 
TheyVe passed the shallow well and the flat stone 
Fouled by the drinking cattle, the narrow lane 
Where mourners for five centuries have carried 
Noble or peasant to his burial; 
An owl is crying out above their heads. 



THE DREAMING OF THE BONES 59 

(sinking) 
Why should the heart take fright? 
What sets it beating so? 
The bitter sweetness of the night 
Has made It but a lonely thing. 
Red bird of March, begin to crow, 
Up with the neck and clap the wing. 
Red cock, and crow. 

( They go round the stage once. The First Musician 
speaks.) 

And now they have climbed through the long grassy 

field 
And passed the ragged thorn trees and the gap 
In the ancient hedge; and the tomb-nested owl 
At the foot's level beats with a vague wing. 

{singing) 
My head Is In a cloud; 
I'd let the whole world go; 
My rascal heart Is proud 
Remembering and remembering. 
Red bird of March, begin to crow, 
Up with the neck and clap the wing. 
Red cock, and crow. 

( They go round the stage once. The First Musician 
speaks.) 

They are among the stones above the ash 
Above the briar and thorn and the scarce grass; 
Hidden amid the shadow far below them 
The cat-headed bird is crying out. 



6o FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

The dreaming bones cry out 
Because the night winds blow 
And heaven's a cloudy blot; 
Calamity can have Its fling. 
Red bird of March begin to crow, 
Up with the neck and clap the wing, 
Red cock, and crow. 

Stranger 

We're almost at the summit and can rest. 
The road Is a faint shadow there; and there 
The Abbey lies amid Its broken tombs. 
In the old days we should have heard a bell 
Calling the monks before day broke to pray; 
And when the day has broken on the ridge, 
The crowing of its cocks. 

Young Man 

Is there no house 
Famous for sanctity or architectural beauty 
In Clare or Kerry, or in all wide Connacht 
The enemy has not unroofed? 

Stranger 

Close to the altar 
Broken by wind and frost and worn by time 
Donogh O'Brien has a tomb, a name in Latin. 
He wore fine clothes and knew the secrets of women, 
But he rebelled against the King of Thomond 
And died in his youth. 



THE DREAMING OF THE BONES 6i 

Young Man 

And why should he rebel? 
The King of Thomond was his rightful master. 
It was men like Donogh who made Ireland weak — 
My curse on all that troop, and when I die 
I'll leave my body, if I have any choice 
Far from his ivy tod and his owl; have those 
Who, if your tale is true, work out a penance 
Upon the mountain-top where I am to hide, 
Come from the Abbey graveyard? 

Young Girl 

They have not that luck, 
But are more lonely; those that are buried there. 
Warred In the heat of the blood; if they were rebels 
Some momentary impulse made them rebels 
Or the commandment of some petty king 
Who hated Thomond. Being but common sinners, 
No callers in of the alien from oversea. 
They and their enemies of Thomond's party 
Mix in a brief dream battle above their bones; 
Or make one drove; or drift in amity; 
Or in the hurry of the heavenly round 
Forget their earthly names. These are alone 
Being accursed. 

Young Man 
But if what seems Is true 
And there are more upon the other side 
Than on this side of death, many a ghost 
Must meet them face to face and pass the word 
Even upon this grey and desolate hill. 



62 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Young Girl 

Until this hour no ghost or living man 
Has spoken though seven centuries have run 
Since they, weary of life and of men's eyes, 
Flung down their bones In some forgotten place 
Being accursed. 

Young Man 

I have heard that there are souls 
Who, having sinned after a monstrous fashion, 
Take on them, being dead, a monstrous Image 
To drive the living, should they meet its face, 
Crazy, and be a terror to the dead. 

Young Girl 

But these 
Were comely even in their middle life 
And carry, now that they are dead, the Image 
Of their first youth, for it was in that youth 
Their sin began. 

Young Man 

I have heard of angry ghosts 
Who wander in a wilful solitude. 

Young Girl 

These have no thought but love; nor joy 
But that upon the Instant when their penance 
Draws to its height and when two hearts are wrung 
Nearest to breaking, if hearts of shadows break, 



THE DREAMING OF THE BONES 63 

His eyes can mix with hers; nor any pang 
That is so bitter as that double glance, 
Being accursed. 

Young Man 

But what is this strange penance — 
That when their eyes have met can wring them most? 

Young Girl 
Though eyes can meet, their lips can never meet. 

Young Man 

And yet it seems they wander side by side. 

But doubtless you would say that when lips meet 

And have not living nerves, it is no meeting. 

Young Girl 

Although they have no blood, or living nerves, 

Who once lay warm and live the live-long night 

In one another's arms, and know their part 

In life, being now but of the people of dreams, 

Is a dream's part; although they are but shadows, 

Hovering between a thorn tree and a stone, 

Who have heaped up night on winged night; although 

No shade however harried and consumed 

Would change his own calamity for theirs. 

Their manner of life were blessed could their lips 

A moment meet; but when he has bent his head 

Close to her head, or hand would slip in hand. 

The memory of their crime flows up between 

And drives them apart, 



64 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Young Man 

The memory of a crime — 
He took her from a husband's house it may be, 
But does the penance for a passionate sin 
Last for so many centuries? 

Young Girl 

No, no; 
The man she chose, the man she was chosen by 
Cared little and cares little from whose house 
They fled towards dawn amid the flights of arrows, 
Or that it was a husband's and a king's; 
And how, if that were all, could she lack friends, 
On crowded roads or on the unpeopled hill? 
Helen herself had opened wide the door 
Where night by night she dreams herself awake 
And gathers to her breast a dreaming man. 

Young Man 

What crime can stay so in the memory? 
What crime can keep apart the lips of lovers 
Wandering and alone? 

Young Girl 

Her king and lover 
Was overthrown in battle by her husband 
And for her sake and for his own, being blind 
And bitter and bitterly in love, he brought 
A foreign army from across the sea. 



THE DREAMING OF THE BONES 6s 

Young Man 

You speak of Dermot and of Dervorgilla 
Who brought the Norman In? 

Young Girl 

Yes, yes, I spoke 
Of that most miserable, most accursed pair 
Who sold their country Into slavery, and yet 
They were not wholly miserable and accursed 
If somebody of their race at last would say: 
*'I have forgiven them." 

Young Man 

Oh, never, never 
Shall Dermot and Dervorgilla be forgiven. 

Young Girl 

If some one of their race forgave at last 
Lip would be pressed on lip. 

Young Man 

Oh, never, never 
Shall Dermot and Dervorgilla be forgiven. 
You have told your story well, so well Indeed 
I could not help but fall Into the mood 
And for a while believe that It was true 
Or half believe; but better push on now. 
The horizon to the East Is growing bright. 
{They go round stage once. The musicians play.) 
So here we're on the summit. I can see 
The Aran Islands, Connemara Hills, 



66 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

And Galway In the breaking light; there too 

The enemy has toppled roof and gable; 

And torn the panelling from ancient rooms; 

What generations of old men had known 

Like their own hands, and children wondered at, 

Has boiled a trooper's porridge. That town had lain, 

But for the pair that you would have me pardon, 

Amid Its gables and Its battlements 

Like any old admired Italian town; 

For though we have neither coal, nor Iron ore, 

To make us wealthy and corrupt the air, 

Our country, if that crime were uncommitted. 

Had been most beautiful. Why do you dance? 

Why do you gaze, and with so passionate eyes, 

One on the other; and then turn away, 

Covering your eyes, and weave It In a dance? 

Who are you? what are you? you are not natural. 

Young Girl 
Seven hundred years our lips have never met. 

Young Man 

Why do you look so strangely at one another. 
So strangely and so sweetly? 

iYouNG Girl 

Seven hundred years. 

Young Man 
So strangely and so sweetly. All the ruin. 
All, all their handiwork Is blown away 



THE DREAMING OF THE BONES 67 

As though the mountain air had blown it away 
Because their eyes have met. They cannot hear, 
Being folded up and hidden in their dance. 
The dance Is changing now. They have dropped their 

eyes, 
They have covered up their eyes as though their hearts 
Had suddenly been broken — never, never 
Shall Dermot and Dervorgllla be forgiven. 
They have drifted In the dance from rock to rock. 
They have raised their hands as though to snatch the 

sleep 
That lingers always In the abyss of the sky 
Though they can never reach it. A cloud floats up 
And covers all the mountain head In a moment; 
And now it lifts and they are swept away. 
{The stranger and the young girl go out.) 
I had almost yielded and forgiven it all — 
This is indeed a place of terrible temptation. 

( The Musicians begin unfolding and folding a black 
cloth. The First Alusician comes forward to the front 
of the stage, at the centre. He holds the cloth before 
hi?n. The other two come one on either side and unfold 
it. They afterwards fold it up in the same way. While 
it is unfolded, the Young Man leaves the stage.) 

{Songs for the unfolding and folding of the cloth.) 

The Musicians {singing) 
I 
At the grey round of the hill 
Music of a lost kingdom 



68 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Runs, runs and is suddenly still. 
The winds out of Clare-Galway 
Carry it: suddenly it is still. 

I have heard in the night air 
A wandering airy music; 
And moidered in that snare 
A man is lost of a sudden, 
In that sweet wandering snare. 

What finger first began 
Music of a lost kingdom? 
They dream that laughed in the sun. 
Dry bones that dream are bitter, 
They dream and darken our sun. 

Those crazy fingers play 

A wandering airy music; 

Our luck is withered away, 

And wheat in the wheat-ear withered, 

And the wind blows it away. 

II 

My heart ran wild when it heard 
The curlew cry before dawn 
And the eddying cat-headed bird; 
But now the night is gone. 
I have heard from far below 
The strong March birds a-crow, 
Stretch neck and clap the wing. 
Red cocks, and crow. 



CALVARY 



69 



i 



PERSONS OF THE PLAY 

Three Musicians (their faces made up to resemble 

masks) . 
Christ {wearing a mask). 
Lazarus {wearing a mask) 
Judas {wearing a mask). 
Three Roman Soldiers {their faces masked or made 

up to resemble masks) 

At the beginning of the play the First Musician 
comes to the front of the bare place, round three sides 
of which the audience are seated, with a folded cloth 
hanging from his joined hands. Two other musicians 
come, as in the preceding plays, one from either side, 
and unfold the cloth so that it shuts out the stage, and 
then fold it again, singing and moving rhythmically. 
They do the same at the end of the play, which enables 
the players to leave the stage unseen. 

{Song for the folding and the unfolding of the cloth.) 

First Musician 

Motionless under the moon-beam, 
Up to his feathers In the stream, 
Although fish leap, the white heron 
Shivers in a dumbfounded dream. 

71 



72 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Second Musician 
God has not died for the white heron. 

Third Musician 

Although half famished he'll not dare 
Dip or do anything but stare 
Upon the glittering Image of a heron, 
That now Is lost and now Is there. 

Second Musician 
God has not died for the white heron. 

First Musician 

But that the full Is shortly gone 
And after that Is crescent moon, 
It's certain that the moon-crazed heron 
Would be but fishes' diet soon. 

Second Musician 
God has not died for the white heron. 

( The three musicians are now seated by the drum, 
flute, and zither at the hack of stage.) 

First Musician 

The road to Calvary, and I beside It 

Upon an ancient stone. Good Friday's come, 

The day whereon Christ dreams His passion through. 

He climbs up hither but as a dreamer climbs. 



CALVARY 73 

The cross that but exists because He dreams it 
Shortens His breath and wears away His strength. 
And now He stands amid a mocking crowd, 
Heavily breathing. 

{A player zvith the mask of Christ and carrying a 
cross has entered and now stands leaning upon the 
cross.) 

Those that are behind 
CHmb on the shoulders of the men in front 
To shout their mockery: "Work a miracle," 
Cries one, and "Save yourself"; another cries, 
"Call on your father now before your bones 
Have been picked bare by the great desert birds" ; 
Another cries: "Call out with a loud voice 
And tell him that his son is cast away 
Amid the mockery of his enemies." 

{Singing) 
Oh, but the mockers' cry 
Makes my heart afraid. 
As though a flute of bone 
Taken from a heron's thigh, 
A heron crazed by the moon, 
Were cleverly, softly played. 

{Speaking) 
Who is this from whom the crowd has shrunk, 
As though he had some look that terrified? 
He has a deathly face, and yet he moves 
Like a young foal that sees the hunt go by 
And races In the field. 



74 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

(// player with the mask of Lazarus has entered.) 

Lazarus 

He raised me up. 
I am the man that died and was raised up; 
, I am called Lazarus. 

Christ 

Seeing that you died, 
Lay In the tomb four days and were raised up, 
You will not mock at me. 

Lazarus 

For four whole days 
I had been dead and I was lying still 
In an old comfortable mountain cavern 
When you came climbing there with a great crowd 
And dragged me to the light. 

Christ 

I called your name, 
"Lazarus, come out," I said, and you came out 
^ Bound up in cloths, your face bound In a cloth. 

Lazarus 
You took my death, give me your death Instead. 

Christ 
I gave you life. 



CALVARY 75 

Lazarus 

But death Is what I ask. 
Alive I never could escape your love, 
And' when I sickened towards my death I thought 
I'll to the- desert, or chuckle In a corner 
Mere ghost, a solitary thing. I died 
And saw no more until I saw you stand 
In the opening of the tomb; "Come out!" you called; 
You dragg;ed me to the light as boys drag out 
A rabbit when they have dug Its hole away; 
And now with all the shouting at your heels 
You travel towards the death I am denied. 
And that Is why I have hurried to this road; 
And that Is why I claim your death. 

Christ 

I have conquered death 
And all the dead shall be raised up again. 

Lazarus 

Then what I heard Is true. I thought to die 
When my allotted years ran out again; 
And that, being gone, you could not hinder It; 
But now you will blind with light the solitude 
That death has made; you will disturb that corner 
Where I had thought I might lie safe for ever. 

Christ 
I do my Father's will. 



76 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Lazarus 

And not your own ; 
And I was free four days, four days being dead. 
Climb up to Calvary but turn your eyes 
From Lazarus that cannot find- a tomb 
Although he search all height and depth: make way, 
Make way for Lazarus that must go search 
Among the desert places where there is nothing 
But howling wind and solitary birds. 

{He goes out.) 

First Musician 

The crowd shrinks backward from the face that seems 
Death stricken and death hungry still; and now 
Martha, and those three Marys, and the rest 
That live but in His love are gathered round Him. 
He holds His right arm out, and' on His arm 
Their lips are pressed and their tears fall; and now 
They cast them on the ground before His dirty 
Blood-dabbled feet and clean them* with their hair. 

{Sings) 

Take but His love away 
Their love becomes a' feather 
Of eagle, swan or gull. 
Or a drowned heron's feather 
Tossed hither and thither 
Upon the bitter spray 
And the moon at the full. 



CALVARY 77 

Christ 

I felt their hair upon my feet a moment 
And then they fled away — why have they fled? 
Why has the street grown empty of a sudden 
As though all fled from it in terror? 

Judas {nclw has just entered) 

I am Judas 
That sold you ror the thirty pieces of silver. 

Christ 

You were beside me every day, and saw 
The dead raised up and blind men given their sight, 
And all that I have said and taught you have known, 
Yet doubt that I am God. 

Judas 

I have not doubted; 
I knew it from the first moment that I saw you; 
I had no need of miracles to prove it. 

Christ 
And yet you have betrayed me. 

Judas 

I have betrayed you 

Because you seemed all-powerful. 

Christ 

My Father 
Even now, if I were but to whisper it. 



78 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Would break the world in His miraculous fury 
To set me free. 

Judas 

And is there not one man 
In the wide world that is not in your power? 

Christ 
My Father put all men into my hands. 

Judas 

That was the very thought that drove me wild, 
I could not bear to think you had but to whistle 
And I must do ; but after that I thought 
Whatever man betrays Him will be free; 
And life grew bearable again. And now 
Is there a secret left I do not know, 
Knowing that if a man betrays a God 
He is the stronger of the two. 

Christ 

But if 
'Twere the commandment of that God Himself 
That God were still the stronger? 

Judas 

When I planned it 
There was no live thing near me but a heron 
So full of itself that it seemed terrified. 



CALVARY 79 

Christ 

But my betrayal was decreed that hour 
When the foundations of the world were laid. 

Judas 

It was decreed that somebody betray you — 

I'd thought of that — but not that I should do it, 

I the man Judas, born on such a day, 

In such a village, such and such his parents; 

Nor that I'd go with my old coat upon me 

To the High Priest, and chuckle to myself 

As people chuckle when alone, and that I'd do it 

For thirty pieces and no more, no less. 

And neither with- a nod, a look, nor a sent message, 

But with a kiss upon your cheek. I did it, 

I, Judas, and no other man, and now 

You cannot even save me. 

Christ 

Begone from me. 
{Three Roman soldiers have entered.) 

First Roman Soldier 
He has been chosen to hold up the cross. 

{During what follows, Judas holds up the cross 
while Christ stands with His arms stretched out upon 

it.) 

Second Roman Soldier 

We'll keep the rest away; they are too persistent; 
They are always wanting something. 



8o FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Third RoxMAn Soldier 

Die In peace. 
There's no one here but Judas and ourselves. 

Christ 
And who are you that ask your God for nothing? 

Third RoxMAN Soldier 

We are the gamblers, and when you are dead 
We'll settle who is to have that cloak of yours 
By throwing dice. 

Second Roman Soldier 

Our dice were carved 
Out of an old sheep's thigh at Ephesus. 

First Roman Soldier 

Although but one of us can win the cloak 

That will not make us quarrel; what does it matter? 

One day one loses and the next day wins. 

Second Roman Soldier 

Whatever happens Is the best we say 
So that it's unexpected. 

Third Roman Soldier 

Had you sent 
A crier through the world you had not found 
More comfortable companions for a deathbed 
Than three old gamblers that have asked for nothing. 



CALVARY 8 1 

First Roman Soldier 

They say you're good and that you made the world, 
But it's no matter. 

Second Roman Soldier 

Come; now let us dance 
The dance of the dice-throwers, for it may be 
He cannot live much longer and has not seen it. 

Third Roman Soldier 

If he were but the God of dice he'd know it, 
But he is not that God. 

First Roman Soldier 

One thing is plain. 
To know that he has nothing that we need 
Must be a comfort to him. 

Second Roman Soldier 

Begin the dance. 

( They dance round the cross, moving as if throwing 
dice. ) 

Christ 

My Father, why hast Thou forsaken Me ? 
{Song of the folding and unfolding of the cloth.) 

First Musician 

Lonely the sea-bird lies at her rest. 
Blown like a dawn-blenched parcel of spray 

G 



82 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Upon the wind, or follows her prey- 
Under a great wave's hollowing crest. 

Second Musician 
God has not appeared to the birds. 

Third Musician 

The geer-eagle has chosen his part 
In blue deep of the upper air 
Where one-eyed day can meet his stare; 
He is content with his savage heart. 

Second Musician 
God has not appeared to the birds. 

First Musician 

But where have last year's cygnets gone? 
The lake is empty; why do they fling 
White wing out beside white wing? 
What can a swan need but a swan? 

Second Musician 
God has not appeared to the birds. 



NOTE ON 

THE FIRST PERFORMANCE OF 

*'AT THE HAWK'S WELL" 



83 



NOTE ON THE FIRST PERFORMANCE OF 
"AT THE HAWK'S WELL" 

A COUPLE of years ago I was sitting in my stall at the Court 
Theatre in London watching one of my own plays, 'The King's 
Threshold.' In front of me were three people, seemingly a 
husband, a wife, and a woman friend. The husband was 
bored ; he yawned and stretched himself and shifted in his seat, 
and I watched him with distress. I was inclined to be angry, 
but reminded myself that music, where there are no satisfying 
audible words, bores me as much, for I have no ear or only 
a primitive ear. Presently when the little princesses came 
upon the stage in their red clothes, the woman friend, who had 
seemed also a little bored, said: "They do things very well," 
and became attentive. The distinguished painter who had 
designed the clothes at any rate could interest her. The wife, 
who had sat motionless from the first, said when the curtain 
had fallen and the applause — ^was it politeness or enthusiasm? 
— had come to an end, "I would not have missed it for the 
world." She was perhaps a reader of my poetry who had 
persuaded the others to come, and she had found a pleasure 
the book could not give her, in the combination of words and 
speech. Yet when I think of my play, I do not call her to the 
mind's eye, or even her friend who found the long red gloves 
of the little princesses amusing, but always that bored man; 
the worst of it is that I could not pay my players, or the 
seamstress, or the owner of the stage, unless I could draw to 
my plays those who prefer light amusement or have no ear for 
verse, and fortunately they are all very polite. 



86 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

Being sensitive, or not knowing how to escape the chance of 
sitting behind the wrong people, I have begun to shrink from 
sending my muses where they are but half-welcomed ; and even 
in Dublin, where the pit has an ear for verse, I have no longer 
the appetite to carry me through the daily rehearsals. Yet I 
need a theatre; I believe myself to be a dramatist; I desire to 
show events and not merely tell of them; and two of my best 
friends were won for me by my plays, and I seem to myself 
most alive at the moment when a room full of people share the 
one lofty emotion. My blunder has been that I did not discover 
in my youth that my theatre must be the ancient theatre that 
can be made by unrolling a carpet or marking out a place with 
a stick, or setting a screen against the wall. Certainly those 
who care for my kind of poetry must be numerous enough, if 
I can bring them together, to pay half-a-dozen players who can 
bring all their properties in a cab and perform in their leisure 
moments. 

I have found my first model — and in literature if we would 
not be parvenus we must have a model — in the '^Noh" stage 
of aristocratic Japan. I have described in Certain Noble Plays 
of Japan (now included in my Cutting of an Agate) what has 
seemed to me important on that most subtle stage. I do not 
think of my discovery as mere economy, for it has been a great 
gain to get rid of scenery, to substitute for a crude landscape 
painted upon canvas three performers who, sitting before the 
wall or a patterned screen, describe landscape or event, and 
accompany movement with drum and gong, or deepen the 
emotion of the words with zither or flute. Painted scenery 
after all is unnecessary to my friends and to myself, for our 
imagination kept living by the arts can imagine a mountain 
covered with thorn-trees In a drawing-room without any great 
trouble, and we have many quarrels with even good scene- 
painting. 

Then too the masks forced upon us by the absence of any 
special lighting, or by the nearness of the audience who 
surround the players upon three sides, do not seem to us 



NOTE ON ''AT THE HAWK'S WELL" 87 

eccentric. We are accustomed to faces of bronze and of 
marble, and what could be more suitable than that Cuchulain, 
let us say, a half-supernatural legendary person, should show 
to us a face, not made before the looking-glass by some leading 
player — there too we have many quarrels — but moulded by 
some distinguished artist? We are a learned people, and we 
remember how the Roman theatre, when it became more 
intellectual, abandoned "make-up" and used the mask instead, 
and that the most famous artists of Japan modelled masks that 
are still in use after hundreds of years. It would be a stirring 
adventure for a poet and an artist, working together, to create 
once more heroic or grotesque types that, keeping always an 
appropriate distance from life, would seem images of those 
profound emotions that exist only in solitude and in silence. 
Nor has any one told me after a performance that they have 
missed a changing facial expression, for the mask seems to 
change with the light that falls upon it, and besides in poetical 
and tragic art, as every "producer" knows, expression is mainly 
in those movements that are of the entire body. 

"At the Hawk's Well" was performed for the first time in 
April 1916, in a friend's drawing-room, and only those who 
cared for poetry were invited. It was played upon the floor, 
and the players came in by the same door as the audience, and 
the audience and the players and I myself were pleased. A 
few days later it was revived in Lady Islington's big drawing- 
room at Chesterfield Gardens for the benefit of a war charity. 
And round the platform upon three sides were three hundred 
fashionable people, including Queen Alexandria, and once more 
my muses were but half welcome. I remember, however, with 
a little pleasure that w^e found a newspaper photographer 
planting his camera in a dressing-room and explained to him 
that as fifty people could pay our expenses, we did not invite 
the press, and that flashlight photographs were not desirable 
for their own sake. He was incredulous and persistent — a 
whole page somewhere or other was at our disposal — and it 
was nearly ten minutes before we could persuade him to go 



88 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

away. What a relief after directing a theatre for so many 
5^ears — for I am one of the two directors of the Abbey Theatre 
In Dublin — to think no more of pictures unless Mr. Dulac or 
some other distinguished man has made them, nor of all those 
paragraphs written by young men, perhaps themselves intel- 
ligent, who must applaud the common taste or starve! 

Perhaps I shall turn to something else now that our Japanese 
dancer, Mr. I tow, whose minute intensity of movement in the 
dance of the hawk so well suited our small room and private 
art, has been hired by a New York theatre, or perhaps I shall 
find another dancer. I am certain, however, that whether I 
grow tired or not — and one does grow tired of always quarry- 
ing the stone for one's statue — I have found out the only way 
the subtler forms of literature can find dramatic expression. 
Shakespeare's art was public, now resounding and declamatorj^, 
now lyrical and subtle, but always public, because poetry was 
a part of the general life of a people who had been trained by 
the Church to listen to difficult words, and who sang, instead 
of the songs of the music-halls, many songs that are still 
beautiful. A man who had sung "Barbara Allan" in his own 
house would not, as I have heard the gallery of the Lyceum 
Theatre, receive the love speeches of Juliet with an Ironical 
chirruping. We must recognize the change as the painters did 
when, finding no longer palaces and churches to decorate, they 
made framed pictures to hang upon a wall. Whatever we 
lose In mass and in power we should recover in elegance and 
In subtlety. Our lyrical and our narrative poetry alike have 
used their freedom and have approached nearer, as Pater said 
all the arts would if they were able, to "the condition of 
music"; and if our modern poetical drama has failed, it is 
mainly because, always dominated by the example of Shakes- 
peare, it would restore an irrevocable past. 

W. B. Y., 1916. 



MUSIC FOR 

"AT THE HAWK'S WELL" 

By EDMOND DULAC 



All rights of performance reserved by Edmond Dulac 

89 



A NOTE ON THE INSTRUMENTS 

In order to apply to the music the idea of great simplicity of execu- 
tion underlying the whole spirit of the performance, it was necessary 
to use instruments that any one with a fair idea of music could learn 
in a few days. 

The following offer hardly any difficulty, while they provide a 
sufficient background of simple sounds which the performer can, after 
a very little amount of practice, elaborate at will. 

A plain bamboo flute giving the appropriate scale. 

A harp, a drum and a gong. For these last two, any instruments 
on oriental lines with a good shape and a deep mellow sound. 

For the harp an ordinary zither, such as shown in the design of 
the musician, can be used. The strings, beginning by the lower ones, 
are grouped in nine or ten chords of four notes consisting of: the key- 
note, two strings in unison giving the fifth above, and the octave of 
the key-note. 



Ex: 



P ^^°i^ 



Beyond these chords there are seven double strings tuned to any 
pentatonic scale that suits the play. 

The tuning of the chords and free strings would be altered ac- 
cording to the performance, and several flutes giving different scales 
would be required. 

The same chords and scales should be used throughout any one 
play. 

The instruments are distributed as follows: one musician plays 
the drum and gong, one the flute, the singer takes the harp. 

The drum and the gong must be used at times during the per- 
formance to emphasize the spoken word ; no definite notation of this 
can be given, and it is left to the imagination and taste of the musi- 
cian. 

Scales for the Instruments 




90 



MUSIC FOR "AT THE HAWK'S WELL' 



To Be sung tjvithout accompaniment as they unfold ihe curtain. 



I call to the eye of the • mind A well long choked up and dry And 



boughs long stripped by the wind, And I call to the mind's eye Pall • or of an ' ivory 



face Its lofty dis-so-lute air, A man climbing up to a place The salt sea wind has swept bare. 
I have dream'idofa life soon dont. Will he lose by that or win? A mo- ther that saw her 



son Dou-bled . o • ver a ■. speckled shin Cross-grained with nine-ty years Would cry, " How 



little -worth Were all my hopes and fears And the hard pain of bis 'birth I ' 



91 



92 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 



to he sung as they i'tt down. 






:=J= 



Harp, tg: g; 




Speaking : 
" Night falls," etc. 



^i^^^^E^S^ 



heart would be al-ways a • wake, The heart would turn to its rest. 




'Why should I sleep," the heart cries, "For the wind, the salt wind, the sea wind Is 



MUSIC FOR ^'AT THE HAWK'S WELL" 93 



mil 



speaking : 
"That old man," etc. 



^^^^^^ 



beat-ing a cloud through thi: skies ; I would wander al • ways like the wind.' 



^^^^M 



'^^^ 



e^^i 



speaking : 
" He has made a little heap of leaves," etc. 

4 




PRELUDE TO THE DANCE 



To begin luhin the Tou^g Man says 
•Ah, you have looked at her '. . . ' 
„ J Flute. S!aw. 




94 



FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 





j^k gS,-j-^g^_ — ^^,,-)rdr 



^ 



^^^^ 



ttts^. 



MUSIC FOR ''AT THE HAWK'S WELL" 95 



THE DANCE 

The Dance is played through to A, begun again at going to B, 
begun again at and played to the end, omitting the passage 
from A to B. Thus it ought to last about 3^ minutes. 



T^S Dance h joined on to'tJie Prelude hy a soft roll 
en the gong w/iile the girl begim to move. 
Flute, 




m^^ m^^m^^^^^^^^!^ ^ ^^ ^ ^^ . 



Drum and Gong. 



__ ^ __ _,^ g,^__Jl Z: P^ p .. 



Gong. Drum. 



• cres • cen • do . 



^^^^^^^^^^^ 




^^Jl^l^pP^ 



j?=i=^cj=e;)g=; 



96 



FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 



ii^iEi^sJ^s^ri 



jrjj.jjuj. 



diminuendo 



M 









Cong. 



cres ' cert ' ' do , . , , / 

1 — |— r-H ^r=^i— tr,— '-^-1 '= 1^1 J^'-f "-p- ' 



.«.^*i=,=J^=,pJ 






Gong. 



te^ 1 ,^ I J f J 



louder and faster 



^'eMz 






^I^SEElSSEEEE 




jmrj jjj-jjj Jj-jjjj--^^r^ jr--- s. — j— 



Gong. 



Gong. 



MUSIC FOR "AT THE HAWK'S WELL" 97 



Speaking ! 
" O God, protect me," etc. 



^i^^^^^^k^^^^^m 



3 ^ ^3 



if^=i^^^^^= 



T^r m j^-=M. 






Drum. Gong. Drum. Gong. Drum. 



feM^ifi^e^^i^^^i^^^^ 



a little quicker 






_P ■ J=!l 'J 



I s^ ' ^ J J 



ME^^ ^^^i4h^^m ^^Si^^0- 



/aster and/aster to the end 



m^-d^M ^^d^^ 



J. J 



^m 



mi 



i^Jl^^^ii^iiL^i^^4^:^s^;^^^i^ 



Speaking : 
** The madness has laid hold upon him." 



4-1=^^ 



^ &^ -I ^ 1 ^<^ _r^ ^ J^ 






^.Z^^-i^i^^i^^i^^^^^,:^^^^ 



'7' dim. 



98 



FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 



Sneaking i 
■ Run where you will 



slower ^ very slow 



^^=^i^^^3^^^I^Ji^^^^= 




te^^^gl=^^ 



Gong. 



Speaking I 
" I have heard water splash."" 

At the end of the Dance begins a soft roll on the gong 
Harp. 



^^^^^^H^^^^i^^^ 



tr^'-'^ 



and so on till they sing** He has lost what may not be found 



-■^='^B^i^^--fki^^^E^:^^^ 



Flute. 



Happ. 



-r^M- 



He has lost what may not be found Till i 



^.. .0. .^ Jt. ^ .p. ^ 4t .^ M. .m- 



MUSIC FOR "AT THE HAWK'S WELL" 99 



heap his bu-rial mound And all the history ends. He might have lived at his ease An 



p^iip^Fppg^g^^^PPi 




To he sung before they rise to unfold the curtain. 







loo FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 



1^^ 



=S^- 



\ — r n , I — . ,.. _r-n — f*^— —pn- 



; the ■ de-so-late pla-ces, Un-faltering, un-moistened eyes. Fol-ly a -lone I cherish 



S^l^^^^ 




I chose it for my share, Be • ing but a mouthful of air, I am con-tent to perish, 




am but a mouthful of sweet air, O ■ lamentable shadows, Obs • cu • ri • ty of strife, 




I choose a pleasant life, A • mong in • do-lent meadows, Wisdom must live a bit-ter life. 

J— ^ — .- _^_f=5r2-r_ 



MUSIC FOR "AT THE HAWK'S WELL" loi 



To he sung wiile they unfold and fold up the curtain. 




all his days Where a hand on the bell Can call the miicb cows To the comfortable door of his house. 




'The man that I praise," Cries out the leafless tree, "Has 



married and stays By an old hearth and he On naught has set store But children and dogs on the floor. 

3 m jT 



WTiobutan idiot would praise a witheired tree?' 



NOTE ON 
*THE ONLY JEALOUSY OF EMER'' 



103 



, 



NOTE ON "THE ONLY JEALOUSY OF EMER" 

While writing these plays, intended for some fifty people in 
a drawing-room or a studio, I have so rejoiced in my freedom 
from the stupidity of an ordinary audience that I have filled 
''The Only Jealousy of Emer" with those little known con- 
victions about the nature and history of a woman's beauty, 
which Robartes found in the Speculum of Gyraldus and in 
Arabia Deserta among the Judwalis. The soul through each 
cycle of its development is held to incarnate through twenty- 
eight t5'pical incarnations, corresponding to the phases of the 
moon, the light part of the moon's disc symbolizing the sub- 
jective and the dark part the objective nature, the wholly dark 
moon (called Phase 1) and the wholly light (called Phase 15) 
symbolizing complete objectivity and complete subjectivity 
respectively. In a poem called "The Phases of the Moon" in 
^he Wild Swans at Coole I have described certain aspects of 
this symbolism which, however, may take 100 pages or more 
of my edition of the Robartes papers, for, as expounded by 
him, it purports to be a complete classification and analysis of 
every possible type of human intellect, Phase 1 and Phase 15 
symbolizing, however, two incarnations not visible to human 
eyes nor having human characteristics. The invisible fifteenth 
incarnation is that of the greatest possible bodily beauty, and 
the fourteenth and sixteenth those of the greatest beauty visible 
to human eyes. Much that Robartes has written might be a 
commentary on Castiglione's saying that the physical beauty 
of woman Is the spoil or monument of the victory of the soul, 
for physical beauty, only possible to subjective natures, is de- 
scribed as the result of emotional toil in past lives. Objective 
natures are declared to be always ugly, hence the disagreeable 
appearance of politicians, reformers, philanthropists, and men 

105. 



io6 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

of science. A saint or sage before his final deliverance has one 
incarnation as a woman of supreme beauty. 

In writing these little plays I knew that I was creating 
something which could only fully succeed in a civilization very 
unlike ours. I think they should be written for some country 
where all classes share in a half-mythological, half-philosophical 
folk-belief w^hich the writer and his small audience lift into 
a new subtlety. All my life I have longed for such a country, 
and always found it quite impossible to write without having 
as much belief in its real existence as a child has in that of 
the wooden birds, beasts, and persons of his toy Noah's Ark. 
I have now found all the mythology and philosophy I need in 
the papers of my old friend and rival, Robartes. 



MUSIC* FOR 

'THE DREAMING OF THE BONES" 

By WALTER MORSE RUMMEL 

(1917) 



* See Note on Music, page 108 

All rights of Performance reserved by JV. M. Rummel 
107 



Music of tone and music of speech are distinct from each other. 
Here my sole object has been to find some tone formula ivhich ivill 
enhance and bring out a music underlying the ivords. The process 
is therefore directly opposed to that of tone-music creation, ivhich 
from the formless directly creates its tone form, ivhereas I seek to 
deri've a formless overflow from the already formed. 



First Musician: A medium 'voice, more chanting than singing, not 
letting the musical value of the sound predominate too greatly the 
spoken value. 

The First Musician uses a Plucked Instrument (harp or zither) 
to reinforce the notes of his song in unison or in the octave. (It 
is advisable not to reinforce each note sung, but only each beat, 
unless certain difficulties of pitch would necessitate the reinforcing 
of such note.) 

During the symphonic moments of the play the Plucked Instru- 
ment assumes a more individual part. 

Second Musician: Using a Flute, of a soft and discreet quality. 

Third Musician: Using a Boived Instrument, one-stringed, more like 
a Hindu Sarinda, perhaps with a sympathetic vibrating string, 
giving a nasal sound. This part furnishes a bass, a sort of 
horizon to the song, and becomes more individual in the sym- 
phonic parts of the play. 

Fourth Musician: Using a Drum, preferably also an oriental model, 
played with the palm and the fingers of the hand. The drum 
part is indicated by — (long) and "" (short). The numbers below 
these indications signify the fingers employed. The using of the 
palm of the hand is indicated by P. 

In case there are only Three Musicians, the Second and Third 
Musicians can alternatively take the Drum part in places where they 
are unoccupied. 

All instrumental music, especially during the speaking parts, must 
al'ways leave the voice in the foreground. 

W. M. R. 



108 



THE DREAMING OF THE BONES 



The stage is any hare place in a room ivith a ivall beyond it. A 
screen or curtain hung ivith a pattern of mountain and sky can 
stand against it, hut the pattern must only symholize or suggest. 

Three (four) Musicians enter. One stands singing ivhile the others 
sit doivn against the luall hy their instruments ivhich are already 
there', a plucked instrument, a boived instrument, and flute and 
drum. 



First Musician {singing). 



1ST Mffs. ' anxiously questioning 




3RD Mi/s. pp semf>re 



^^^^ 



4TH Mus. ^'^'i^^^y^'^iy- 




\ Indicates a slide (portamento) of the voice, after oriental fashion— see subsequent applications. 



109 



1 10 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 



evenly 




dizzy dreams can spring From the dry bones of the dead? 




^=^^^msm^ 



And many a night it seems That all the val ■ ley fills With those fan-tas - tic dreams. They 




over -flow the hills, So passionate is a shade Like wine that fills to the top A 




THE DREAMING OF THE BONES iii 



^^ ^Et^l^ ^- =^g=p=ft ^f ^£gS3-^ SSEEfl 



grey-green cup of jade, Or may - be an a - gate cup. 




1ST US. j rpj^^ j^^^^ before dawn and the moon covered 

[speaking) 



3RD Mus. 11^^^^^^^ 

up. The little village of Abbey is covered up 



:sT Mus. 



2ND Mus. 
{Flute) 



Ie^^^^^ 



IM^Jg 



I. The little narrow trodden way that runs 

From the white road to the Abbey of Corcomroe 

' Is covered up ; and all about the hills 




I. Are like a circle of Agate or of 

I. r Jade. Somewhere among great rocks on the scarce grass 




* See footnote, p. 109. 



1 1 2 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 



Birds cry, — they cry their loneliness 




A young man with a lantern comes this way. 



He seems an Aran fisher, for he wears 
The flannel' bawneen and the cow-hide 
■ shoe. He stumbles wearily and stumbling prays. 




{J Toung Man enters praying in Irish) 
Chorus 
P -^='---^ ~ ^''^ ^ . Once more the birds cry in their loneliness. 



mfz 



=b2=^ 



m 



^^M 



THE DREAMING OF THE BONES 113 



1. But now they wheel about our heads ; and now 

They have dropped on the grey stone to the north-east. 



(^J Toung Man and Toiing Girl come iti) 



la ^g p-ggg^^ 



No music until page 56, line 13. 

Young Man: For fear their owners might find shelter there. What 
is that sound? 



4. 



»/==- p held 



long 2 
5 



5 




No music until page 58, line 18. 
Stranger: Or grey Aughtmana shake their wings and — ^ 



THE WALK AROUND THE STAGE 

Two steps may be taken to each musical measure, making it a very 
slow figurative step. This will mean about 24 steps to one walk 



114 



FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 



around the stage (Round). The last two steps may be twice as long 
{in time), accompanied by certain movements of expectancy. In cal- 
culating that each step amounts to half a metre, the length of the 
stage would have to be of five metres. 



{<: 



5 metres 



5 metres 



:>} 



)=' 



2 metres in all. 



If necessary the two opening measures may be repeated at will, the 
same at beginning of each round. 

As to the spoken part preceding the song in each round, this must 
be arranged for by the singer. The singing voice must be able to 
easily enter in time at its proper place. The spoken part, however, 
can be begun before the time indicated for it in the music, or after, 
according to the speed of speech. The rhythm of the music should 
be sloiv. 



Stranger : — cry, 

IGT ROUND. In a slow mysterious rhythm 



2ND Mus. 
{Flute\ 



1ST Mus.*i 



3RD Mus. f 
{Boiv Instr.)\ 

Steps : 



gil ^Sg^ ^^Tfl 



Dreamingly, always in background 



Speaking: They've passed the shallow well 
and the flat stone Fouled by the 




Wt) 



2 
{right) 



drinking cattle, the narrow lane yhave carried Noble or peasant r-An owl is crying out above 



Where mourners for five centuries' 



to his burial. 



/' 



their heads. 




7n^ Weirdly expressive without, however, covering the voice 

56 7 8 9 10 

♦ The 4tb Musician may double the plucked instrument, giving the same rhythm. 



THE DREAMING OF THE BONES 115 



'•{ 



E^~l^^^ 



^S^g^|=g: =^-&tfia^^^^-^^=^^ C^=^^ 



Expressive but in time on account of the walking 



Singing : Why should) the heart take fright 




II 



12 



yuite in the background 

13 H 



(evenijf) 



What setsit beat-ingso? The bitter sweetness of the night Has 




19 29- 

• All smaU notes sung as mdicated, before the beat, hut nevertheless very short. 



ii6 



FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 



V*yy rhythmic and strong. 



M 












--f?Z^IZL- 



g}Pg^^5g^=i-fefe^l^^ 



bird of March, begin to crow, Up with the neck and clap the wing, Red cock, and crow. 



I " I 5- I: l^^f: ^ ' 



/ plucked roughly 

23 /^Kf* 



2ND ROUND. 



24 



pause 



pause 



y have climbed through 
assy field, And passed 



spoken : And now they have climbed through 
the long grassy field. And passed 



^^3=^===3kEi 



-='-*-^=i-=^-i-=i-F 



^i^ 



^^m 



^•{ 



M 



^i7*=i- 



iz^rri: 






the ragged thorn trees and y hedge ; and the tomb-nested owl At the |^EEi=5'ff3 

the gap In the ancient ^ foot's level beats with a vague-wing. |^±E~z:^5t 

Si filing: My 



Se^je 


=-^-J^.-J^^, — 


=?-ti^ 


N~ 


^fc:?i-pSi 


^^4^ 


E^J 


11^ 




^^ 


« 


S^is^ 


— e^e-. 


==B 



10 



II 12 



THE DREAMING OF THE BONES 117 




em f has 


E- 


— ^fr^- 










_P*_ 




^"i; — ur- 


V— - 




=i^-ni_j=f!!r: 


-^•■^i 


e.-tirr 


^E 


i^ 






— tj^^-^^^ 


:iE:^^ 


— Jl- 


-?E^ 



ras • cal heart is proud 



mem- ber - ing, 



re - mem - ber- 



Ifi^E 



-r^ — =grrrr.-^-ig=rr=rr|gr 



-:f^|- 






^H 



17 



19 



Vti'yyhythmic and strong 




%z 



/ i>luckcd roughly 

23 /««« 



1 1 8 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 




3.{|^ 



3RD ROUND. 




«» { jfeE^S^gEJ^^ S^ 






and the scarce grass ; Hidden them The cat-headed bird is 

amid the shadow far below •' crying out. 



=^^ ^ 



Singing ; The 




v{ m^ 



II IZ, 



THE DREAMING OF THE BONES 119 




dreatii • ing bones cry out 



be ■ cause the night winds blow And heaven (is) a cloudy blot ; Ca- 

-fS. ^ 




'■{ 




Z Very rhythmic and strong 

f'«tfJ? f- ^ f. > « > > 

.-ict;:^- 1 — I— CS^ 



5^ggiJg^g Egc^ gg^^^^sa ig ^F^FF=g^^ 



la-mi • t>' can have its fling. 



Red bird of March, begin to crow, 



s= 



^^p^=EE=S^^^^p£|-5E|!|^^J 



/ rous-ZUy 



^ 



^ 



:=zr^-H-3T- 



m 



>9 



/ plucked roughly, 
2 3 pause 




Speaking — 

The Stranger : 

We're almost, etc 

No music 



120 



FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 



CLOSING SONG 




1ST Mus.' 



3RD Mus. 



■^r^-j^j 



^^^^^S^ 



^ft:=::f-_0-^.0^ -ff--l-*. 



tz-irtz=^t*: 



lii^^S 



At the grey round of the hill 



Mus - ic of a lost kingdom Runs, 




3-{ 



-M^^: 






rff=prs=r=^ 



\^^Mm 



zgtzz^ffzpi^: 



m 



runs and is suddenly still 



The winds out of Clare-Cal-way Carry it: 



gr^^g^S^=g-; |;Sgi!;;iEs;Hg:g pi£Es 



l^li 



l^^^^l^^i^^lE^l 



deeply expressive 



'•{ 



*6~ 






Slcnving uj> a little In time 



suddenly it is still. 



i=^5^^11f£Eil 



rt'^^/Zy exfitessive 



THE DREAMING OF THE BONES 121 



^ 



^^^^ ^^H^^^^^ ^^^^m. 






*^5C=: 



Slightly/aster . 



Heard in the night air A wandering ai - ry mu • sic ; 



And moldered in that 



i|^^ TO;g^=Ers==B^ | gij=grE^3= ^g =c3;»^=g^ =^ 



{ ^^l^i^^ig^^o=li^=^s=^=3 




iiii!^?iif^i?^^iEg=Eli^EppiE^ES^== 



snare A man is lost of a sudden. In chat sweet wandering snare. . . 



^5^g5igigigsipiEEa;gEi=|;g; 






&5=e= 



^ 



P^E 



I^P 



deeply expressive 



Coming out plaintively, without disturbing the melody 



^^^^^^M^^Se^ 



first began Mu - sic of a lost kingdom? 



What fin 






^^^§^^B=^^ 



1221 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 






THE DREAMING OF THE BONES 123 




wandering airy music; Our luck Is withered a - way. And wheat in the wheat - ear 



^^g^ E^gSJE^ 




Veryjinse: 



M 



^^^m^^^^^^^^ 



:S=d 



geitinfcfaMcy 



it a - way. . .• . 



withered, And the wind blows it a - way. 



J^^r)' '^^''^e 



w(j//<j r jl/£?>-^ vigorous and alive. 



'■{ 



ii^g gggs{ -g 



^S^ 



#^^ 



^^^ 



^1 



My heart ran wild when it heard The curlew 






.?/« 



124 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 



vitensety 



SS 



?li^-=lg 



waning • - . . 



=» > 



>ii-SL:;4«-^^^^^^^i*i--^-^T-fii^'*-«-g±r'*-?"-i''^ 



^ei^ii^ 



E^-M:tE?EEg^ 



cry before the dawn And the eddying cat - headed bird ; 






3 3 



=g=^gij^^^= lg3; 



- ^^m 



>■ >■ > > > > >• :> > 



calm again 



^^gm^ii-3iimi^lM^^^i 



==rTd^i=^l;ij^EHE^&; 



^^^^i^i^^^lg^^j^^ 



But now the night is gone. 



-t5l«-4« rtll*-!*- 



iiS^fe^i^^l^^=llp^a 




iriSg^^£=|i^iE|E3 



=i= 



['ve heard from far below The strong March birds a - crow .... Stretch 



^^ 



mr^^, 



m 



/ rcughly 



=«.=-^^ 



% ^-^ 



{te^ ^=^,T- 



/ rovghly plucked 



r- 



^ 



THE DREAMING OF THE BONES 125 



'•{ 




neck and clap the wing, ■ . * . , , , Red cocks", and crow. 



-J 1 



^H^^3:^=,===,==.)g:p=pf;Eg=^^SE;p,^=,=..^ 




sfi>p 



>•{ 



pp , 



{waning-) 



mi 



;f^^ 



^^..=^=== } i: ====^=.^^- { fe^=;E^ gig^ 




/lie a si^/t 



Paris, September 1917. 



NOTE ON 
"THE DREAMING OF THE BONES'* 



127 



NOTE ON "THE DREAMING OF THE BONES" 

Dervorgilla's few lines can be given, if need be, to Dermot, 
and Dervorgilla's part taken by a dancer who has the training 
of a dancer alone; nor need that masked dancer be a woman. 

The conception of the play is derived from the world-wide 
belief that the dead dream back, for a certain time, through 
the more personal thoughts and deeds of life. The wicked, 
according to Cornelius Agrippa, dream themselves to be con- 
sumed by flames and persecuted by demons; and there is pre- 
cisely the same thought in a Japanese '*Noh" play, where a 
spirit, advised by a Buddhist priest she has met upon the road, 
seeks to escape from the flames by ceasing to believe in the 
dream. The lovers in my play have lost themselves in a different 
but still self-created winding of the labyrinth of conscience. 
The Judwalis distinguish between the Shade which dreams 
back through events in the order of their intensity, becoming 
happier as the more painful and, therefore, more intense wear 
themselves away, and the Spiritual Being, which lives back 
through events in the order of their occurrence, this living back 
being an exploration of their moral and intellectual origin. 

All solar natures, to use the Arabian terms, during life move 
towards a more objective form of experience, the lunar towards 
a more subjective. After death a lunar man, reversing the 
intellectual order, grows always closer to objective experience, 
which in the spiritual world is wisdom, while a solar man 
mounts gradually to the most extreme subjective experience 
possible to him. In the spiritual world subjectivity is innocence, 
and innocence, in life an accident of nature, is now the highest 

129 

K 



I30 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

achievement of the intellect. I have already put the thought 
in verse. 

He grows younger every second 

That were all his birthdays reckoned 

Much too solemn seemed ; 

Because of what he had dreamed, 

Or the ambitions that he served, 

Much too solemn and reserved. 

Jaunting, journeying 

To his own dayspring, 

He unpacks the loaded pern 

Of all 'twas pain or joy to learn. 

Of all that he had made. 

The outrageous war shall fade; 

At some old winding whitethorn root 

He'll practise on the shepherd'? flute, 

Or on the close-cropped grass 

Court his shepherd lass. 

Or run where lads reform our daytime 

Till that is their long shouting playtime; 

Knowledge he shall unwind 

Through victories of the mind, 

Till, clambering at the cradle side, 

He dreams himself his mother's pride, 

All knowledge lost in trance 

Of sweeter ignorance. 

The Shade is said to fade out at last, but the Spiritual Being 
does not fade, passing on to other states of existence after it 
has attained a spiritual state, of which the surroundings and 
aptitudes of early life are a correspondence. When, as in my 
poem, I speak of events while describing the ascent of the 
Spiritual Being, I but use them as correspondence or symbol. 
Robartes writes to John Aherne, under the date of May 1917, 
a curious letter on this subject: "There is an analogy between 
the dreaming back of the Body of Passion" (I have used instead 
of this term the more usual term Shade), "and our ordinary 
dreams — and between the life of Spirit and Celestial Body 
taken together" (I have substituted for both terms the less 
technical, though, I fear, vague term Spiritual Being), "and 
those coherent thoughts of dreamless sleep, which, as I know 



*THE DREAMING OF THE BONES" 131 

on my personal knowledge, coincide with dreams. These 
dreams are at one time their symbols, and at another live with 
an independent life. I have several times been present while 
my friend, an Arab doctor in Bagdad, carried on long conversa- 
tions with a sleeping man. I do not say a hypnotized man, 
or even a somnambulist, for the sleep seemed natural sleep 
produced by fatigue, though sometimes with a curious sudden- 
ness. The sleeper would discuss the most profound truths and 
yet while doing so make, now and again, some movement that 
suggested dreaming, although the part that spoke remained 
entirely unconscious of the dream. On waking he would often 
describe a long dream, som.etimes a symbolic reflection of the 
conversation, but more often produced by some external stim- 
ulus — a fall in temperature in the rooms, or some condition 
of body perhaps. Now and again these dreams would interrupt 
the conversation, as when he dreamed he had feathers in his 
mouth and began to blow. Seeing, therefore, that I have 
observed a separation between two parts of the nature during 
life, I find no difficulty in believing in a more complete separa- 
tion, affirmed by my teachers, and supported by so much tradi- 
tion, when the body is no longer there to hold the two parts 
together." 

I wrote my play before the Robartes papers came into my 
hands, and in making the penance of Dermot and Dervorgilla 
last so many centuries I have done something for which I had 
no warrant in these papers, but warrant there certainly is in 
the folk-lore of all countries. At certain moments the Spiritual 
Being, or rather that part of it which Robartes calls "the 
Spirit," is said to enter into the Shade, and during those 
moments it can converse with living men, though but within 
the narrow Hmits of its dream. 



K 2 



NOTE ON "CALVARY" 



133 



NOTE ON ''CALVARY" 

I HAVE written the little songs of the chorus to please myself, 
confident that singer and composer, when the time came for 
performance, would certainly make it impossible for the audi- 
ence to know what the words were. I used to think that sing- 
ers should sing a recipe for a good dish, or a list of local trains, 
or something else they want to get by heart, but I have changed 
my mind and now I prefer to give him some mystery or secret. 
A reader can always solve the mystery and learn the secret by 
turning to a note, which need not be as long as those Dante 
put to several of the odes in the Cofivito, I use birds as symbols 
of subjective life, and my reason for this, and for certain other 
things, cannot be explained fully till I have published some part 
at any rate of those papers of Michael Robartes, over which 
I have now spent several years. The following passage in a 
letter written by Robartes to Aherne in the spring of 1917 
must suffice. ''At present I rather pride myself on believing 
all the superstitions of the Judwalis, or rather in believing that 
there is not one amongst them that may not be true, but at first 
my West European mind rebelled. Once in the early morning, 
when I was living in a horse-hair tent among other similar 
tents, a young Arab woke me and told me to come with him 
if I would see a great wonder. He brought me to a level place 
in the sand, just outside the tent of a certain Arab, who had 
arrived the night before and had, as I knew, a reputation as 
a wonder-worker, and showed me certain marks on the sand. 
I said they were the marks of a jackal, but he would not have 
this. When he had passed by a little after sunrise there was 
not a mark, and a few minutes later the marks were there. No 
beast could have come and gone unseen. When I asked his 
explanation he said they were made by the wonder-worker*s 
^Daimon' or 'Angel.' 'What,' I said, 'has it a beast's form?' 

135 



13^ FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

*He goes much about the world,' he said; 'he has been In Persia 
and in Afghanistan, and as far west as Tripoli. He is inter- 
ested in things, In places, he likes to be with many people, and 
that Is why his Daimon has the form of a beast, but your 
Daimon would have a bird's shape because you are a solitary 
man.' Later on, when I mastered their philosophy, I came to 
learn that the boy had but classified the wonder-worker and 
myself according to their division of all mankind Into those 
who are dominated by objects and those who are dominated 
by the self or Zat, or, as we would say, Into objective and 
subjective natures. Certain birds, especially as I see things, 
such lonely birds as the heron, hawk, eagle, and swan, are the 
natural symbols of subjectivity, especially when floating upon 
the wind alone or alighting upon some pool or river, while the 
beasts that run upon the ground, especially those that run in 
packs, are the natural symbols of objective man. Objective 
men, however personally alone, are never alone In their 
thought, which is always developed In agreement or in conflict 
with the thought of others and always seeks the welfare of 
some cause or institution, while subjective men are the more 
lonely the more they are true to type, seeking always that 
which is unique or personal." 

I have used my bird-symbolism in these songs to Increase the 
objective loneliness of Christ by contrasting it with a loneliness, 
opposite In kind, that unlike His can be, whether joyous or 
sorrowful, sufficient to itself. I have surrounded Him with 
the images of those He cannot save, not only with the birds, 
who have served neither God nor Caesar, and await for none 
or for a different saviour, but with Lazarus and Judas and the 
Roman soldiers for whom He has died in vain. "Christ," 
writes Robartes, "only pitied those whose suffering Is rooted 
in death. In poverty, or In sickness, or in sin. In some shape of 
the common lot, and he came especially to the poor who are 
most subject to exterior vicissitude." I have therefore repre- 
sented in Lazarus and Judas types of that Intellectual despair 
that lay beyond His sympathy, while in the Roman soldiers 



NOTE ON "CALVARY" 137 

I suggest a form of objectivity that lay beyond His help. 
Robartes said in one of the conversations recorded by Aherne: 
"I heard much of Three Sojigs of Joy, written by a certain old 
Arab, which owing to the circumstances of their origin were 
considered as proofs of great sanctity. He held the faith of 
Kusta ben Luki, but did not live with any of the two or three 
wandering companies of Judwalis. He lived in the town of 
Haj^el as servant to a rich Arab merchant. He himself had 
been a rich merchant of Aneyza and had been several times to 
India. On his return from one of these journeys he had found 
his house in possession of an enemy and was himself driven 
from Aneyza by the Wahabies on some charge, I think of 
impiety, and it was then he made his first song of joy. A few 
years later his wife and child were murdered by robbers in the 
desert, and after certain weeks, during which it was thought 
that he must die of grief, his face cleared and his step grew 
firm and he made his second song. He gave away all his goods 
and became a servant in Hayel, and a year or two later, believ- 
ing that his death was near, he made his third song of joy. 
He lived, however, for several months, and when I met him 
had the use of all his faculties. I asked him about the 'Three 
Songs,* for I knew that even on his deathbed, as became the 
votary of a small contentious sect, he would delight in exposi- 
tion. I said, (though I knew from his songs themselves, that 
this was not his thought, but I wanted his explanation in his 
own words) : 'You have rejoiced that the Will of God should 
be done even though you and yours must suffer.* He answered 
with some emotion: 'Oh, no, Kusta ben Luki has taught us 
to divide all things into Chance and Choice; one can think 
about the world and about man, or anything else until all has 
vanished but these two things, for they are indeed the first 
cause of the animate and inanimate world. They exist in God, 
for if they did not He would not have freedom, He would be 
bound by His own Choice. In God alone, indeed, can they 
be united, yet each be perfect and without limit or hindrance. 
If I should throw from the dice-box there would be but six 



138 FOUR PLAYS FOR DANCERS 

possible sides on each of the dice, but when God throws He 
uses dice that have all numbers and sides. Some worship His 
Choice; that is easy; to know that He has willed for some 
unknown purpose all that happens is pleasant; but I have spent 
my life in worshipping His Chance, and that moment when 
I understand the Immensity of His Chance is the moment when 
I am nearest Him. Because It is very difficult and because 
I have put my understanding into three songs I am famous 
among my people/ " 



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